Oh PJG, you are turning into a lush.

Last night we all celebrated the 30th birthday of the Peter Kenar.  Not one to miss a party (as if he had a choice), Pocket Jeff Goldblum tagged along for a trip to the bar.  Much to my chagrin PJG demanded release from my pocket, as signaled by many stern punches to my package.  He could smell the booze, and nothing else could cure his shakes.

Double fisting already PJG?  We had just arrived and the small plastic man made it clear:  this night he would not be fucked with.

With a beer and a Red Bull and vodka inside him, PJG began to show off his strength to Peter.  He was foolish to thing he could impress such a meast, but he tried anyway.

As if to prove some sort of choas theory nonsense, PJG stole my smoke and began to brandish it at me in a threatening manor.  For a small plastic man who spends 90% of his time nestled against my penis, he sure thinks hes hot shit.

All the drinking and violent Apple slogan shouting began to make me mad, so I made PJG sit his salty ass down and relax.  WELCOME TO FLAVOR COUNTRY ASSHOLE.

Clearly here things are turning for the worse.  Unable to lift the pitcher and fill his own glass, PJG claimed a pitcher for himself (by vomiting on it, of course).  Right before I took this picture, he claimed he could drink the depth in one single sip. 

Thoroughly lubricated with spirits, PJG proceeded to give Peter his birthday present: a seductive dance.  This is the only picture I can post here - once the splits were finished PJG engaged his bulging biceps and tried to give Peter a happy ending.  Hilarity did not ensue.