"Spit on the Dick of Life"

So last night, for Cinco de Mayo, we went out to the bars, where a street festival was in progress. We chose the town with the highest Hispanic population, for maximum authenticity.

And we went in a limo. Because we're baller, apparently.




I wasn't feeling that great, but friends have been telling me lately to "spit on the dick of life." Personally, I'm not fond of this expression. It implies I'm about to be the very receptive partner in this exchange. Ideally, I'd like life to be doing the graphic, metaphorical lubrication.

However, we have since decided that if life's going to fuck us anyway, we might as well make it easier on ourselves. Hence a limo into a dive town bar crawl at midnight when I'm sick.


Then I got shit for not drinking all night and trying to get an earlier ride home. I felt like the hypochondriac mensch of the group.

Well, luckily, in my favor I woke up this morning with a 102.4 fever and all the symptoms of a heinous flu, thus making my last night way more hardcore, insofar as I didn't pass out at any point.

Baller.