Tsunami Night

So, there was a T10 tsunami warning.  This is the highest a tsunami warning can be.  Did Becks and I hunker down and wait out the storm. . .well sort of, in our own way, which meant we first had to run to the shop and buy lots of booze.  I was super excited to see my old friend Andre there, the cheapest shittiest fake champagne cheap enough that I drank it when I went to uni, and to round out our poor-as-fuck booze purchases we also grabbed some Boone's Farm.  We headed back home and were drinking and playing cards while dinner was cooking.  As usual, when Andre comes home with me, things got out of control quickly.  Fast forward 20 minutes and dinner was burnt, there was champagne spilled all over the carpet and we were off to the shop for round two, because how silly of us to think 4 bottles in addition to the mixie canned drinks we had drank prior to popping bottles would be enough.  Again, there was a tsunami, so we were wearing hoodies with the hoods up carrying cheep liquor bottles and looking like a couple of rough chavs (the British equivalent of trailer trash) to me this means one thing:  photo op.

The night goes on like this and we decide to make a list of celebs we want to fuck.  Both lists are pictured.  I have no idea how Kim Jong Un made my top three, but the next day we found out he is married, fucking typical.