Wow. Just... wow. I have returned from my brother's play and may or may not need to swallow a whole bottle of cyanide. It seems the theatre director (who was mine in high school as well, but that's a story for a different time) picked the worst, most depressing play of all time. Which is great, you know, because the world is so happy as it is. Dudes, I just spent 3 hours trapped in a theatre while teenagers pretended to burn to death. AND MY MOM WOULDN'T LET ME BRING A FLASK. I think that is considered child abuse in most states.
On the plus side my family's Wii Fit is now kept in my old bedroom. Meaning that I can pretend to exercise to my heart's content. In fact I just did a round whilst eating peanut butter M&Ms, just like Jesus intended.
Do we know how to party or do we know how to party?