Sorry, Janelle

So last Saturday was my buddy Chris Green's 30th birthday party. Much fun and enjoyment was had by all, especially me. Because I'm the king now. But I'll get to that later.
I wound up taking a pathetically tiny number of pictures--far fewer than I meant to. I post them here now, with all appropriate snark.

Here's the man of the hour himself. I thought the guy couldn't look any more like a leprechaun. Boy was I wrong. Bonus points for the glasses making him look like a late 80s-early 90s VR leprechaun.

This has nothing to do with anything. Just a d-bag on a recumbent bike. Please note I don't actually know for sure he's a d-bag, but usually if a guy's on a recumbent bike it's a pretty good indicator. Note also the entirely unrelated party behind him. There seemed to be a lot of them around that part of the Waterfront that day.

And here's Shaun--one of the party planners, theoretically the one who came up with the idea of the guests wearing green. And here's what he showed up wearing.

And now his shame is laid bare for all of this blog's millions and millions of readers.

Of course I wore green myself--a T-shirt, festooned with a design which looked, as I repeatedly put it, like somebody ran over NBC's "The More You Know" logo. That line killed for some reason.

Properly attired at last! His punishment is to look like a Hawaiian-Irish National Guardsman. Now and forever. Also in this picture is...I dunno, some chick whose name I can never remember. I think she's Chris' state-appointed caretaker or something.

I sure must have liked that turned-off fountain, because I took most of my pictures of that day there. This one, however, was taken in front of Ground Kontrol, Portland's premier bar/arcade--or barcade, as I'd call it were I a completely unfunny dipshit who's nowhere near as clever as he thinks. Wait a sec...

Anyway, that'd be Chris' freshly-tethered shoe there. And I do believe that's my shadow taking a picture.

There didn't seem much point going to Ground Kontrol when we did as they hadn't started serving alcohol yet. Not that Chris let that stop him! One can of 7-Up and one miniature bottle of Grey Goose kept him on an uninterrupted path to roaring drunkenness. And boy did he get there.

Here's the gay bar we stopped at. It's actually called Casey's but I can't shake the feeling its real name is "Blowpony" and the city just wouldn't let them put that on a street sign. Does that mean somebody blew a pony there once? If so they seem awfully proud of it.

They serve beer in mason jars there--is that gay? I have no idea. Still, best High Life I've ever had.

The place wasn't as, I dunno, gay as I thought it'd be. Not until the drag queen showed up at least.

We eventually ended the night in a karaoke bar. I didn't stay long because Chris was so roaring drunk by that point his caseworker dragged him home after just a few minutes, after which I sort of lost interest and left. And I was about ten seconds away from singing "Holy Diver", too. Oh well.

One last thing: that whole day we'd been having a contest of sorts. You'd get points for showing up at each bar, answering trivia questions, winning physical challenges and the like. Well, through no small amount of sheer dumb luck, I won.

What did I win, you ask?

EVERYTHING, that's what.

BEHOLD!

Now and forevermore, I am the king! Kneel before me and pay proper tribute! Fawningly point out how the crown is so tall I could also be pope! Fail to point out that it barely fits around my freakishly large head and falls off at the merest tilt of my neck! Your king commands it!

I am SO wearing this Sunday.