The lamest things i can think of

saturday morning. 10am. splitting headache from a night of hard drinking. the damage done: 2 bottles of red, 4 pints of beer, a broken chair, a litre of yop busted open and oozing out on to the floor the sticky peach compound speckled with bits of brown 100% recycled toilet paper the irony of a cleanup procedure gone awry, two Russians, two Americans, two Hungarians and four Canadians, a threesome of upset Gypsies on the tram (Excuse me Gypsy, Would you like to sit down? - spoken in true Borat fashion) and one doner kebab.

soothing my battered brain cells with a large helping of water, Tylenol, a bowl of Breakfast of Champions, and an entire thin crust pizza over an Israeli film of Rock's collection while side stepping the the dry crusty yop on the floor allowed me to successfully get to the mall, purchase some sandals and arrive home without a headache.

the sandals I needed for a spa party, cleverly named Sparty. every month at the oldest Turkish bath on the planet, about a thousand young adults gather to get wasted, dress only in their bathing suits, and dance to disco balls, laser shows, and tribal beats. the evening was marked by me getting punched. A girl told me her name was Pregita and she said it means pregnant and made a large, round arm motion that would indicate pregnancy. so i brilliantly asked "are you pregnant?" before i realized what i in fact had just asked i found her fist had made its way sharply into my stomach, her friends' eyes were cast furiously on mine, and then felt at once both a crushing sense of embarrassment and a deep desire to laugh that can only come from being punched in a pool during a laser show by a girl named Pregita. Needless to say the comment jolted her emotions in such a way that she followed me around the rest of the night. girls are weird i guess. I think she stole my right sandal.