This weekend I threw an inflatable monkey at a twenty-foot tall snowman- A BUNCH OF TIMES. Plus I was wearing a shirt with fire on it.

What did you do?

Nothing that great, I assure you.

Here’s the scene- a 29th birthday party for two friends of mine. Quick note- when your friends start repeating birthdays to avoid looking middle age in the face, you might be getting to an age where you should start putting money away for retirement. Remember that, for it hath been spake. The party was Sunday afternoon/evening in a part of Atlanta called “Pittsburgh”- one of the areas that is undergoing “regentrification”, but still has lots of hookers and crack dealers hanging around.

The cast- Me, Ladyfriend, Skank Sinatra, Devonne, Cram, and SquirrelyDave. We all showed up at about 6.

This party was loaded with cool toys to play with and bounce off of. There was a 6’ nylon beach ball, Spongebob piñata, towering snowman, inflatable monkeys, hula-hoop, jump rope, silly string, and a football that had a weight in it so it flew all weird when you threw it.

Dump all of this in a huge bowl, add a keg of beer, heat until caramelized, reduce on simmer, whip until firm, bake at 325 for 30 minutes, and you have a bunch of drunk melted plastic and poisonous fumes, a.k.a. FUN. I was like a mosquito at a nudist colony, not knowing where to start.

I went ahead and introduced myself to the snowman first, since he was the biggest guy there. I am a hugger, so I went ahead and opened with a warm embrace.

From then on I knew he had my back if I got into trouble with the monkeys.

My friends and I sat on the porch and chewed the fat, when suddenly, Cram, Skank, and I all realized that we were highly allergic to the fat we were chewing, and it caused uncontrolled snot rockets. Not cool at a social gathering.

Since Squirrelly Dave was the only one who didn’t have snot pouring out of his nose, he got to wear the tiara, much to Skank’s disappointment.

Once we had regained our composure and Skank had changed pants, we started a game of “comically large volleyball”, where we hit this huge ball over the fence and shrubs. I was the set man, as I can’t jump very high, and when I do I usually land on my side. I did a great job, and was very enthusiastic about it. This is the gayest picture I think anyone has ever made of me.

Squirrelly Dave has height (most people call him “the tower of nerves”), not to mention a competitive edge and raw aggression not to me messed with, and he repeatedly “schooled” the other team by climbing the fence and showing them just whose house this was. He posed for this picture, which will be used to make the trophy for the huge volleyball championships.

By the way, ladies, he’s single. Ignore his nametag. It says, “It burns when I pee”, but he says that only happens during an outbreak.

I tried to steal the spotlight by making the ball look like a huge rainbow colored nutbag, and used a torch to emulate my male member, but I had no chance. My spotlight stealing days are over. Now I just steal things like hubcaps and babies.

As soon as we realized that the other team wasn’t actually playing, but were basically just a bunch of people getting annoyed that we kept hitting the ball on their side of the fence, we found something else to do. We took the wobbly football and thought it would be fun to try to throw it into the snowman’s mouth. Skank and I tried throwing inflatable monkeys in there, but they just wouldn’t go far enough, no matter how loud we screamed. I thought it would be a funny metaphor to have an inflatable monkey go into a huge snowman’s mouth. Soon I remembered that metaphors have to make sense, so I joined in the football festivities. The freako football wouldn’t fly straight at all, and we looked like morons missing a 10-foot wide target from seven feet away. just then, we looked up to see the ball go into the mouth without even touching his snowman lips. Cram was the hero. Unfortunate side effect: The force of the ball gagged the snowman and he yakked all over a group of bystanders.

Since we were all proud of Cram, we let him choose the next fun filled activity. To no one’s surprise, he grabbed a hula-hoop and the game was on. When we were kids, we could all hula-hoop for hours, no problem. Somewhere in the past twenty years we got fat and lost all coordination. Adults without superpowers cannot hula-hoop in the traditional sense, but if the picture is taken at just the right moment, it looks like they are a pro. Ignore the fact that he is holding the hoop. Also ignore the fact that we had to strap a cup to his crotch because physical activity irritates his colon.

Skank was actually good at it. Of course, if you read his diary, you will realize that he has enough superpowers for several normal human beings, and therefore is capable of the hula.

Dave has an extensive background in interpretive dance, and told us that he was hula-ing because his body was speaking it through his spirit, or some shit. Then he got all self-righteous and told us that he is mastering a craft, and if we can’t comprehend a higher plane of being, then we could go to hell. We wonder about Dave from time to time.

He held this pose for like fifteen minutes and we made fun of him. He started crying (without breaking the pose), so Ladyfriend kicked him in the nuts, and it was my turn to show the magic. I chose the non-traditional Polynesian hulanekkabi dance just to impress people with my multiculturalism (and to pay homage to the cane god, whom I owe some favors).

Warriors used to use this method in conjunction with face paint, fire, and self-mutilation to frighten their enemies. It hurt my neck.

The night was over for us soon after that, but I took the snowman’s keys because he had like seven daiquiris. I think he ended up going home with one of the monkeys. The worst part of the whole thing was that we didn’t get a single picture of the Ladyfriend.

Don’t worry, fair reader, Squirrelly Dave’s birthday is today, and we’re meeting after work to do more fun stuff. Happy Birthday, Dave. Enjoy the first time you turn 29- it only happens three times.

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