SMASHED!

There's only one word to describe this weekend: smashing. Let me explain.

Part 1. My good friend Megan is leaving for Armenia in a few weeks (she's serving in the Peace Corps) and had a going away party Saturday night. There were a lot of people at this party, but what matters most is that Meg and her boyfriend Chris were there. Because whenever Meg and her boyfriend Chris are involved, things just seem to get out of hand. And get out of hand we did, as you can see in these ridiculous photographs. You could say we were smashed.

RIDICULOUS PHOTOGRAPHS. DON'T LOOK.

Part 2. There was a price to pay for all of that fun, and Sunday morning Kirsten and I were both devastated with hangovers. She stayed home to cry on the couch about it while I headed out to buy my three-year-old nephew Cole an appropriate birthday gift. And by appropriate, I mean something he will love shitless and his parents will resent me for. And sure enough, I found the gift, which spoke to me from the toy aisle in an Incredible Hulk roar voice: BUY FOR COLE! MAKE COLE HAPPY! MAKE COLE'S MOMMY AND DADDY.... AAAAANGRY! ROAAAA!



It's like the simplest, most beautiful invention ever. They're called Smash Hands and you put them on and smash things with them and they make smashing sounds. Perfection.

Part 3. At 7 p.m., still recovering from my bout of TYPE II hangover, I drove into Royal Oak to score some iced crack drink, hoping to get a second wind and maybe make something of the rest of my evening. They say that something like 90% of car accidents occur within a half a mile from where you live and Sunday night they were right. Well, almost. On my way back to The Manor, a little over a mile from the safety of my home and the mucho-tasty Mexican dinner Kirsten was preparing, an SUV coming my way inexplicably swerved directly into my path. I had, like, seconds to react, which consisted of screaming "WHAAAA THE FUUUUUU..." and slamming on my breaks. It was too late. I smashed into the SUV at full force, knocking it off the road, deploying both of my airbags and, the police would later discover, decapitating the straw in my brand-new iced crack drink. The whole thing was very Michael Bay.

Totally confused, I got out of the car to congratulate the other driver on a job well done and maybe get some pointers on how I, too, might best endanger others' lives. He stumbled out of his SUV and tried to speak, but his words were slurred and he could barely keep his eyes open. He said something like, "Slurba burger. Mmmerger slurga slurber," and I said, "Are you drunk or what?" He teetered a bit and replied, "Slerb." I looked at the hood of my car, a total accordion, hissing smoke and dripping coolant.

That's when the drunk guy, who I'll just call Slerbidon Milosovich, tried to get back in his car and drive off. Fortunately for me, a small crowd had already gathered, including the owner of the liquor store we were standing in front of (remarkably, Slerbidon had been going back for more booze when the accident happened) and the sweet couple from Oak Park who had been driving behind me, watched the whole smashing spectacle, and stuck around to get my back when the fuzz arrived. The liquor store owner stopped Slerbo from going anywhere, which wasn't hard because Slerbo was moving at about three miles per year and completely, preposterously smashed.

Needless to say, Slerbidon went to jail and I went home without a car. This is incredibly inconvenient because three weeks ago almost the same thing happened to Kirsten, only the other driver was a septuagenarian, not a drunk, and was driving under the influence of old (I wonder if, in the future, they'll just take old people who cause car accidents away from the accident scene, to a secluded area, and put them down - like they put down race horses when they break their legs.... No, that's a terrible thought. Forget I said it.)

Anyway, they still haven't fixed Kirst's ride, so we're both rideless. This make Dan angry. Make Dan very angry. When Dan get mad, Dan want to SMASH!!!