The Smut Ambassador 05.05.03

My time with Hayley was something to behold with beer goggles firmly on. So was the sight of us screaming the lyrics to 18 and Life as we stumbled past the bars of Ho-broken as the little sorority chickens and fraternity puppies watched us pass. And watched Haylz flash. And watched Gulshan try to convince various ladies to accompany us into the city.

We did it all, yelled off of roofs (rooves?), made time with the nice people of the ACLU, I talked sports until Marla was ready to deck me…

And what I came away with was this—even though Haylz will do a bridge for our pleasure, I refuse to hang out with her and Gulshan together until they can play civil and not fondle each other until one ends up upset or annoyed. That’s just me.

On the other hand… it was kind of funny. And it’s not so bad, nobody fell off of Devon’s balcony. No one was photographed with a Bacardi O3 in hand. And no one decided to stay in Ho-broken because it seemed happening and adventurous.