Reports and photos now coming in from our Australian correspondent Dan [why Kev calls them a nation of "degenerate criminals and sheep-fuckers" is beyond me. I found Dan rather pleasant.]
We'll start off with a heavily edited meta-pic [pic of a pic], cause I don't really know if Blogger's Terms of Service would cover it in all its "den of iniquity" glory. Worse yet, it was the only one of three I could edit enough to get up here. Ah, sin and vice. Good times.
An early shocker to the day was when a just purchased and full bottle of Malibu Rum slipped from my grasp to meet the cold, hard, unforgiving pavement in Nagoya. I let my fellow travelers think it was simply an accident, occurring while fumbling to put my change away.
The truth of it was, and I didn't think they could handle the truth, was that the bottle fell from my grasp only because I had to fight off the rapidly advancing and attacking cadre of deadly ghost ninja vampires. And while I managed to defeat them all without dropping the bottle, in order to successfully close the temporal portal from which they emerged, that particular magickal spell required alcoholic spirits to be successful.
Why yes, I do watch a lot of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Why do you ask?
But that's a pic of the bottle I dropped/did my magickal working with above, with Kev's powerful expression of rage for any possibility that alcohol might be wasted.
Kev, he does love the food.
Damn, I look positively contemplative. Though in reality, I believe this to be the early stages of the alcohol poisoning.
And Kev, he does love his cigars as well.
His large, round and thick rods that he loves to suck on.
Not at all gay.
He says.
Here you see me with my second bottle of rum [and Coke]- aware and always vigilant - on the lookout for more ninja ghost vampires, unbeknownst to my friends.
Above, Ry looks as if he either wants to fight me or fuck me.
Had I known, I'd have slept lighter.
Whereas below, my expression communicates perhaps my default setting when listening to Ry - one of slightly perplexed confusion.
STRAIGHT.
UP.
GANGSTA.
PIMPIN'.
Keiko, the kind bar owner who was kindly enough to allow us to order up a pizza, who was sadly, forced to close her eyes below, when facing the sheer awesome-y magnitude of Kev's inaugural gun show.
Inspired by Green Day, Kev begins his moshing/'rasslin-athon.
Notice, despite my level of intoxication at this point, and whilst keeping a firm grip on the mic, that in the first pic I'm properly posting on the hip to create space in order to turn my hips and pull guard - in true brazilian jiu-jitsu/mma style. While Kev, the bastard, prepares to burn out my eye with a cigar. [My story and I'm sticking to it.]
And in the second I'm tucking my chin and gripping my opponent's arm in order to create space.
...and of course at no time did I stop singing. I maintained the high road, of course, throughout, and at all times. As long as there remains no photographic proof to the contrary.
So, to sum up... I am awesome. That is all.
We are the ghosts who walk.
And smoke, clearly.
Above, a bar lass admires Kev's manicure and french tips.
I thought it was a bit much, personally.
Walking home at the end of the night, and in the pic below, you can see, I am feeling no pain, and I AM DONE.
Yes, indeed.
NOW.
THAT'S.
JUST.
WRONG.
[Even Dan is shocked!]
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