No friends comin through / I think I've lost them all / No man to take their place / So I decided to make this call, whoa ho / That I'd rather be drunk / on a cloud away from here / I don't wanna be sober / no not sober yeah ~ Tweet

Let me preface this by saying that I hate having my picture taken. I hate it even worse when caught in a compromising situation or from my bad side. I've got to get a better press team.

Faces blurred to protect my fragile ego, thankyouverymuch.

---

Personally, I don't know what I was thinking. I never drink. Correction: I never intend on drinking. Like last New Year's when I drank that whole Magnum of champagne and started calling people up and cursing them out. That was not cute. Then there was Founder's Day at Emory where I woke up next to that White chick with no panties on. In short. Karsh + alcohol = disaster. Simple as that. I get it from my mamma. And Sperm Donor too.

But about the party. Since Taurean bailed on me, Doo-Wop was indisposed, and Ri¢hie Ri¢h was busy with his boyfriend, I was going to put on a happy face and take this party head on. A couple of people started to pour in, and both nOva and I were in rare form. Mostly, I was shooting the shit and trying to calm my nerves. Welcome coffee and Paul Masson. We all missed the countdown, but luckily, Boom TiVo'd it. Smart man.

So I start loosening up a bit more, and go downstairs to the bar. Eventually, people start to congregate downstairs, and things pick up. Now for those of you who remember my last encounter down here at a party, I was in panic attack mode. I told myself this wasn't gonna happen again. Oh, apple martinis? I'll take three. Goodbye inhibitions, hello Thumper.

Now I don't know if it was the alcohol or my libido, but homie was lookin' a bit tasty…even if he was decked out in a rabbit fur coat. Then, for some reason, I started remembering "Family Guy" when Peter says "Boys, let's drink until she [The Statue of Liberty] is hot." To make a long story short, the more he talked to me — and just me — the more nervous I got. Another drink please.

Eventually, we make it back to the theater room, where things begin to escalate at a fever pitch. Kissing, grinding, bumping, licking…then his cell phone rang. My God, it could've been a Paris Hilton video for Christ's sake. We headed back upstairs and he sat on the couch. I got him some coffee.

Now I think it was somewhere in here when I donned the coat, but I'm not sure. All I remember is feeling very very silly. Not silly ha-ha, but silly what-the-fuck-is-this. The kind of silliness that can only come from being drunk and wearing a rabbit skin coat. Well, at least it wasn't raccoon.

So while I'm figuring out how to work the coffee maker, Thumper throws up all over the couch. And I mean it looks nasty too…like barbeque or something. Anyway, Prime and EJ and Boom go to clean it up, and I help him clean up in the bathroom. Then here he comes with more drunk talk. He starts to cry about how fat he is, then asks me to come to DC with him in four days. I chalk it up as drunk talk and pay it no mind.

I don't quite remember what happens after this, but I think he sits on the tables and tries to justify him sitting there by saying it's the "gay side" of the table. nOva reads him rather succinctly, I make Thumper apologize twice, and then he drives himself home.

The next day, as we're all lounging around trying to find the strength to do more than watch MadTV on Comedy Central, guess who's 'a knockin'? Yep, ol' Thumper sent a little Hallmark "Sorry I ralfed all over your sofa" card and offered to pay for any cleaning costs. I spoke to him outside shortly, and he told me he remembered nothing from last night. Not a thing. Perhaps that's fortunate. The real kicker was that the guy who was in the car with him was — surprise surprise — his boyfriend. Thumper's nasty little shirt he vomited on is still in the garage at DIC. I'd call him, but I threw away the number. That wasn't going to go anywhere.

Was there a reason I was drinking so much? Yeah, but I won't tell here. I just know that it was dumb to think alcohol could wash away whatever I was feeling or whatever had accumulated up so much that the bottle was my only release.

But Thumper? That was the most action I've gotten in months. No more spirits for Karsh. None.

sigh

Boy, I shole can pick 'em, eh?