BTB's 5-OH BLOWOUT

yeah so on 11jan03 a certain sting operation, having survived some weeks of planning & prep & miles of email, wuz finally sprung on its intended victim, luring him under false pretenses into the depths of the city.

it worked real good,  resulting in a hook-line-&-sinker-quality outcome that no one could have appreciated more than the victim itself.  it went like this...

at ~6:30pm, following an extended sampling-of-the-wares at a deep-10th-ave vendor of spirits & salads, & in the company of a conspirator, the pre-yanked-&-tanked victim stumbled into a west-20s rehearsal studio lugging the ever-ready cooler of weapons-grade margaritas, expecting to spend a few hours proving to a newly-hatched rock band in search of additional vocal talent just how little of that skill he really possessed.

wut greeted him instead wuz the catbabe offering up a beer & a big cheshire grin, plus a room packed w/ 50 or so frat-&-surf-boyz & relateds, some of whom he hadn't seen ner heard from in ages, plus a whole nuther rock band of previous acquaintance & substantial renown that then launched into a suitably-arcane tune of significance to many of the assembled (& of puzzlement to the rest).

from that deer-in-the-headlights moment, the party spun off down the tarmac & up into the stratosphere, gaining momentum & decibels as it did so, with var greets yaks & hoots stacked up against a background of flashbulbs food studio equipage & adult bevs, & with the never-in-the-background dfb thundering righteously through a collection of cool covers & orgazmic originals in that most distinctinctive style wut has verily attracted to them a deeply damaged demented & devoted following.

for the victim, the next few hrs were mostly a blur - the kind he'd experienced in dreams where people & events conflate in ways which, when viewed under the brite light of consciousness, appear as ttl absurdity.

when, well into double digits, the studio physically evicted them, a smaller contingent of party animals staggered off to the leper lounge at the nearby wanna-b-bates motel to continue spinnng at a somewhat-lower intensity level, & w/ the assist of a.b's tagged w/ a somewhat higher-octane level, until a somewhat smaller hr of the morning.

later that same morning, a dozen or so of the survivors, most of whom had just barely begun the long brutal trek back to sobriety, took a side trek over to a snazzy brazzerie in the east 50s for 11am brunch.  as wuz readily apparent from the looks on the faces of the establishment's hostettes, the arriving crew of recovering inebriants fit as silkily into that carefully-coiffed trendoid-chic setting as would a square peg unto a round hole. stares & gawks notwithstanding, & the chow being of the highest <slurp> quality, they hung out / dried out therein for a coupla hours, chatting scratching burping & waiting patiently for the intra-cranial hammering to subside.

as hereby sworn & attested to by the victim, the whole deal wuz quite a surprise.  & quite the party!  just about the best way he can imagine greeting the next half century!

anyone else wanna turn 50 next year?

yet still more pix (trimmed down from former many-MBs size)


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