Righ’ love, shall I tell you abou’ the Beer Olympics, then? I talked in an accent all night. I’m typing in one now. You probably can’t notice so I’ll stop.
I’ve been privileged to attend many glorious gong shows in my young life. The Beer Olympics was no exception. I feel like I drank a lot of beer, so the following is an approximation of what happened.
After powernapping, my date Asha and I journey the few blocks to her highschool chum, Blaine’s house. I’m greeted by Mike, a loud boisterous roommate, but am quickly distracted by mass spandex. The first (and only) spandex clad girl I notice is Heather. She’s the type of girl I instantly fall for, dawning a pink 80’s style bodysuit, sparkly spandex tights and a drawn on moustache. Her friend Jen is dressed normally, but if you’re friends with Heather, you’re obviously a good time. Oh? We need 4 to a team? Jen and Heather are recruited to join England (me and Asha). Done.
A swarm of yellow and black spandex clad Jamaican wrestlers pour out of the house, looking to compete. The case of beer in my hand is practically pulling me into the kitchen so we can start the party. I oblige, pull out beer and proceed downstairs to a basement converted to a full out pub for beer curling.
I shouldn’t blame the Jamaicans for not being able to curl. They just don’t have proper facilities at home. Team England took them in an embarrassing 50-0 loss. Unfortunately, winning at drinking games is a poor way to get drunk. The Spanish and the Mexicans are now waiting for a go. They all look magnificent. Asha and I leave the second half of our team to take on challengers and head outside to check out more of the action. I pass flamboyant Brazilians and green fatigued Cubans on my way to the campfire.
The 2 Steves at the campfire challenge us to Beer Pong. I cheat and pour extra beer into our cups. Asha and I forfeit the first game so we can drink the Steves' beer as well. Feeling good....