Bro-Bama!

Bro-bama celebrated his birthday in Boston last night. And DUDE! I mean, DUDE! What a blast.

The Mess of Epic Proportions started off at the frat house, where the Kegerator continues to prove itself as the best investment we ever made. Bro-bama turned only 47, despite his incredibly graying hair, yet 47 shots is too many for a presidential candidate to do. So we compromised. He took 4 shots in quick succession, we all took a break to play some beer pong and flip cup, then he did 7 more. Then we hit the town. (Kerry, by the way, ironically sucks at flip cup).

By this time, Bro-bama was blackout drunk, and we were taking bets on whether he would finally hook up with Hillary, who had been sending him indecipherable text messages and phone calls at 3 in the morning for weeks. (For the record, he didn't. Whomever I owe a drink, let me know). We were all pretty gone, and this is the one picture I did manage to take. Fortunately, it's a keeper:


Bro-bama wanted to go to Southie, saying it was where the real drinking was.
"Bro-bama, that's a bad idea," I said.
"No it isn't," he said.
"Bro-bama, that's a terrible idea. We can't do that," I said.
"Yes we can!" he thundered.
"Why don't we take another shot?" I asked.
"OK!" he said, and the whole matter was forgottten.

It all gets fairly blurry there. A couple of people left early to catch the T (Laaaame). But most people politicians stayed. I know Wes Clark somebody got kicked out of An Tua Nua for being too loud, and there might have been a fight involving Bill and Al. At some point we were in a cab, looking for pizza in Boston after 2 a.m., but, as always, for naught. We all ended up back at Bro-bama's, eating Cheez-its and making sure he had a trashcan handy. Birthdays are so awesome.