tomorrow's hopes/today's dreams

DJ Street Style MC Flavor was the start of the feast, pounding the beats out like he was punching his Linkin Park poster-plastered walls after breaking up with his GF4LIFE. He was vactioning in the tropics of ass while I was talking blazers with the sultan of Brunei so I guess we can see who the clear winner is here.




I used the 'camera at the waist and fire the flash and walk away cleanly' method for this gang of Italian bodysnatchers. I couldn't handle actually putting the camera to my face because I knew that the second I put it down i'd be wearing distressed jeans and a soft black vintage tee. That's always how it starts. I've watched movies.


These guys, man. These fucking guys. Have you ever just wanted to ask people to be friends with you and then you realize that they have being bros down to a science and there's no point in even trying? Being flanked by 10's and popping bottles of Cristal stolen from the corporate lounge are the pretty much the only elements of the periodic table of fantastic fucks.


See? I mean, it was easy enough for science to disprove god so you better believe that this will wind up in your textbooks next fall.


At the point of the night where every drink I got went straight to my shirt as opposed to my mouth, the champion event with the 'kid millionaire' himself began to get down. I'm sure he was ecstatic to be DJing the opening of an gym and that feeling was multiplied by a thousand golden boners with the knowledge that it was an 'extreme' facility. I kept looking around for Ryan Sheckler or the guy from the Yop commercials, but instead found lamé filled ass-seams and a regular kind of guy, pumping his fists and asking to have his photo taken for Kodoo mobile.




What better way to start a set by pouring vodka down the throats of a few sorority girls who from this point on will just be refered to as the rap song with the line 'get loose get crunk get drunk get blown.'


Waaaaaasted! Climb up on the dj booth! It's the best way to be noticed!


Oh my god, the empire almost crumbled over and destroyed viable acres of lust. Whew. Avoided.



More vodka down open throats! I want to be a celebrity DJ! I want such hijinks captured by an early-twenties mom who wants to prove to her kids that she could party once before they completely ruined her life.








Normal people were having fun too, I think.


Except for this guy, who fell from the stage and nearly killed Buff Bagwell with a cosmopolitan. Scary stuff.


Lucky for us, Seal's demon half-brother was in full-on documenting mode. Praise!





None of this phased Mr. Aoki, though. He still seamlessly burned through every hockey jam from 'We are the Champions' to the YMCA.


TOTALLY FELT IT!!!




Normal people continued...


THIS GIRL was wearing the most incredible Morrissey shirt... like, super pixelized and dyed neatways and I couldn't believe that we locked eyes.


I chased her down and got her photo for real. Hahaha. 10!!


This girl air DJed for so long, scratching an invisible record with her index finger with her other finger in her ear. I don't know if she was really like intense cool 'I don't give a shit' or too coked out to realize the music coming out of the speakers had nothing to do with her flailing fingers.



This guy picked me up on the stage and then bounced in a two-foot radius waving a towel like he was Petey Pablo. Stellar guy, really.



Then bounced to Aoki's side, then bounced behind the speakers where he lit a joint and was instantly hustled by the security. True man!


Michelle! Accompanied me! She is fantastic! ! !


And then it was all over. It was kinda like when you're about to have a wet dream, and then wake up before and then it all goes away and just hurts instead.