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Prepare your mind for an epic saga.
Wait a minute, wait a minute... I need a coffee before trying to write this. Hold on.
Aight. Happy day after St. Patrick's Day! It was a bra-down kinda evening for me, which is like a bro-down evening, only with ladies.
First stop, fashion!
I probably already told this story once somewhere on the site...
...but every time I'm in the back courtyard of Hard Rock I think of my friend trying to sneak through the bushes and getting covered in tar. They'd goop that shit all over the plants, and if you got sneaky, well, you'd get sticky.
It made for a pretty crappy evening from that point on. Not only did she get kicked out, but she pretty much ruined her outfit as well. Double bummer.
These Organik tees are printed with water-based inks. Kinda similar. Kinda not.
Let's move on.
Diving deeper into Waikiki.
Deeper...
Oh wait, too deep. Back up.
Ah yes, that's better. Everyone needs to do a shot of Jameson on St. Paddy's. Bonus points for doing it in a dive bar. Triple fucking word score you do a jig afterwards.
This place was rad. They had a band, a cocktail video game table, and a few sauced regulars hunched over the bar.
Sweet view from the kitchen too.
On the move again.
Fuck you Planet Hollywood. Nah, nah, you're cool. Can you imagine living on planet Hollywood? I can imagine it's kinda like that scene in Total Recall when Arnold's face is about to explode... only it does.
I still can't believe the dude is the fucking Governor of California. That's some crazy shit. Seemed more like mayor material to me.
Wah, wah wah, wah wah weh wah... get ready for bikinis.
At what point in life do you tell yourself, "I'm going to be Ms. Hawaiian Tropic"?
Is it before or after the water gets spilled on you?
The entire contest was juiced anyway. The cute girl lost, the huge fake boobie girl won. Those fake boobies are going to be interesting when you're 90. Seriously, what happens then? And what do those things feel like, on the inside? Why am I such an asshole? Fucking tell me!
I think the espresso is kicking in.
Downtown block party was bonkers as usual. Everybody's gotta mention how they're (insert percentage) percent Irish. Americans will celebrate anything. I just foreclosed on my mortgage... Block Party!!!
I <3 technologeeeeeee.
Apparently in Ireland, the celebration is much like the one in Hawaii, only with red hair and bigger hats.
Pistons, martinis and skulls! All living harmoniously on this guys chest. Oh shit, there's dice too!
The Snowden. Or, Snoffice. Or, Snudio. Get live son.
The side room hooligans. There's a pot of gold behind those doors.
Aloha means hello. Aloha means goodbye.
Sadly, we've reached the end of our time together. But this doesn't mean we can't still be friends. Thanks to my bra-down partners in crime.