How the fuck did THIS happen?!



Well, the short version (for those that just wanted to see the pictures) is: "It was a hell of a party."

And here's the long version with the backstory and explanation:

My company sends me and another guy to a training seminar to learn to program a piece of equipment that I've been programming for 3 1/2 years. Am I insulted? Perhaps, for about 2 seconds until the reality clicks in...3 day paid vacation! So I pack up my shit and I'm off to Atlanta with a giant shit-eating grin all over my face. The first day was about what I expected. I could teach this class, but generally find it easier to sit in the back with my mouth shut rather that attract attention. At first I only play my gameboy during the breaks so as not to be rude or disturb the rest of the class, but by the afternoon I've come to my senses and realized two things: 1) me blasting metroids is probably a much more productive activity with more benefits for the world in general than following along with the class. 2) Fuck the rest of the class. The rest of the afternoon is pretty much just getting paid to play video games.

That evening the ones sponsoring the class take us all out to dinner at an Irish bar/restaurant. Ironically, my blood is mostly Irish (so my mother tells me) and I don't have the first clue what the Irish eat (or much of anything else about them), but the tab's on somebody else so it's all good. What I DO know is what the Irish drink so I've got two Guinness extra stouts in me before the food arrives. Someone at the other end of the table orders an Irish car bomb and somehow two of them get brought to the table and for some reason nobody wants the second one. 3 guesses where THAT son of a bitch went. If your answer is anything other than "straight down Tzar's gob" you fail. After this the food had come and at this point our generous benefactor lucked out as I ate too much and my stomach was just too damn full to put anymore alcohol in me, for which I spent the next hour or so kicking myself for my lapse of judgment in my food consumption (Especially since the food wasn't even any good, the Irish eat some bland shit). But the night is young...

After dinner, most of the group heads out to check out the local drinking establishments. Sadly, we're told that anything after this point was in no way sponsored by our hosts, and I'm redoubling my self-kicking efforts since I've blown my chance and now if I want to get plastered it's on my dime. Oh well, too good to last I guess so I acquiesce to my situation and order a couple of kamikazes anyway since some of my food had settled by this point. About the time I get through both of those the group has unanimously decided that this bar sucks and call for the checks. For some reason they presumptuously put us all on one tab, and half the group can't even remember what they ordered (apparently they had the foresight to eat less and were able to get a lot more drinks in them at dinner than I was) so one guy says "fuck it" and picks up the whole tab. My night is looking up.

So we're walking down a street full of various bars and one stands out from the rest. Stands WAY out. Out front are about half a dozen of the hottest girls I've seen in quite some time wearing very, very little, and it was mentioned that there would be a bikini contest later. It was still early enough that the bar was in "get customers in the door" mode and we were offered the first round free. This pretty much seals the deal and we're in. Turns out the "first round" means they make a batch of whatever they feel like making that night and pass out shots of it. Tonight is was "sex on the beach". I'd never tried one as they sounded A) expensive and B) pansy, but since it was free I said "what the hell". And since a few of the guys with us weren't interested in theirs I said what the hell to a couple more. For those not keeping track, I'm up to 8 drinks for the evening and haven't paid for a single one yet.

By the way, this wasn't the kind of place where you sit at the bar and chat while you drink. It's the kind of place where you can't hear to chat over the noise/music and don't care because there isn't anything important enough to say or hear that would distract you from the very hot, almost naked girls dancing/jiggling on the bar. Anyway, since I've come this far I figure I can go ahead and pay for a few more to finish the job so I order two more kamikazes (was in an odd lime mood for some reason). At this point my bladder was needing attention so I head off to the jon. When I get back I catch the tail end of some promotional stunt where some guy is yelling in a microphone that anyone willing to come up and get their head shaved by one of these hot girls would get free drinks for the rest of the night.

For the benefit of those that don't know me, I typically wear what some asshole once dubbed a "high and tight" (can't believe that stupid ass name stuck) for comfort, functionality, and other general non-military-related reasons. Now I'd been lazy so at this point my head was a bit overgrown, disguising its natural appearance, but basically shaving my head is like shooting a fish with a squirt gun. So once you combine the like terms and reduce the fractions the equation simplifies to "free drinks for C-Tzar".

The drawback was I didn't hear the whole story. They weren't going to shave my head; they were going to carve lines in my hair with shavers. Ultimately not much difference, but it did mean looking like a total asshole until I could get home and finish the job. The bright side was I didn't hear the whole story. It wasn't for free drinks. It was for a prize package that included free drinks as well as a free swing dance (basically a lap dance, but you're on a swing) and finally, I was to be a judge in the bikini contest! To anyone still wondering why I shaved my head: just reread the last two paragraphs until it sinks in.

I'll go ahead and save you the suspense. I have no idea who won the bikini contest because I wasn't there. Sadly it was to start at 12:45 and we had to be in the next day's class tomorrow morning at 8:30. Normally this wouldn't have even begun to deter me, fuck the class. The problem was everyone else was leaving and there was no way in hell that I was going to find my way back to the hotel by myself. Besides I was already so shit-faced, and my eyes so blurry, that I might have declared one of the bouncers the winner and woken up with two broken arms and "FAG" tattooed on my forehead so it was probably for the best.

The only reason I didn't have a hangover the next morning was that I was still drunk when I woke up 8 hours later. Drunk enough that I got out of bed, took a shower and managed to get myself dressed all without noticing that I had covered half the bad with puke until my workmate comes up to find me and points it out. Strangely, the end of the bed that was covered in half-used Irish rice was not the same end of the bed that my head was on. Either I sat up, puked, and laid back down all while passed out, or I projectile vomited that shit. Either way, I kick ass!

Once I got home, since my head was all fucked up anyway, I took the opportunity to play around a bit while fixing the mess. Here we see what I would look like with a half-eaten mohawk (both with stubble and a mustache as well as clean shaven). (Judging from how crooked the line in the back is, it seems the chick that cut my hair was also a little drunk):



And here's the final result:


And one more just for the hell of it:


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