Cel-e-brate, good times, Come on! This weekend, we here at Super Deluxe are putting down the keyboards for a moment and putting on the ritz instead. We’re throwing ourselves a full-blown fucking gala to commemorate the successful launch of our Web site.
That’s right. A butt-load of hard work has gone into this here comedy video thingy, and everyone who’s helped make it happen—from the lowliest widget operator (who also happens to run a cottage ticket-sales industry on the side) to the uppermost echelon of the Turner corporate hierarchy—has earned at least one evening’s worth of frivolity and feting, complete with two free drink tickets.
Myself, I’ve got big plans for Saturday evening. And now I’d like to share them with you. So, without further ado, I present my personal itinerary for Saturday:
Pregame
* 2:00 p.m. Go to SuperCuts to get tips of hair frosted.
* 3:30 p.m. Pick up pleather vest with matching pleather glovelets from Armani Exchange.
* 3:45 p.m. Drop by Old Navy to whack off in the dressing room; blame mess “on the rain.”
Post-pregame
* 4:10 p.m. Arrive back home.
* 4:15 p.m. Lock doors, hastily clean bowl, fluff Kryptonite.
* 4:20 p.m. Shaka, brah!
Party Preparation
* 4:30 p.m. Rehearse speech I intend to give entitled, “Launchy Laughs: Why I Don’t Think The Internet Will Break This Year.”
* 4:45 p.m. Practice acceptable-in-front-of-coworkers’-spouses dance moves.
* 4:55 p.m. Take bath in tub filled with Drakkar Noir; listen to Korn.
Pre-Dinner
* 5:00 p.m. Call up my “date,” Porkchop, to tell her the party’s been cancelled and then hang-up.
* 5:01 p.m. Call Porkchop back and say, “Psych! You’re a dyke.”
* 5:02 p.m. Call back again and tell her I’m just kidding, but if she wouldn’t mind, to hurry the fuck up.
Dinner
* 5:30 p.m. Porkchop expected to arrive at my apartment.
* 5:45 p.m. Sit down for a finely-prepared meal of something or another (must remember to buy food: Chipotle? Captain D’s?).
* 6:00 p.m. Dessert (a.k.a. anal)
Post-coital
* 6:00:30 p.m. Offer to make some chamomile tea.
* 6:05 p.m. Play “Dodge The Dutch Oven” under the sheets with Porkchop.
* 6:15 p.m. Go over the evening’s talking points with her: God (?), death and acceptable broadband video width.
Dress Up
* 6:25 p.m. Slip into my pleather outfit in front of my cat; watch cat crumple nose at the sight of my penis.
* 6:30 p.m. Mirror time! Exfoliate skin; braid facial hair; shave racing stripes into eyebrows.
* 6:40 p.m. Busy myself reading David Lee Roth’s Crazy From The Heat while Porkchop whores herself up with last-minute beauty flourishes.
Get Going
* 7:00 p.m. Pile into my brand-new 2007 H3 (shotgun!).
* 7:15 p.m. Pit stop at McDonald’s (we’re luvin’ it!); order six Snack Wraps with Ranch.
* 7:30 p.m. Doses!!
On The Road
* 7:45 p.m. Cruise around Interstate 285 listening to “Whoomp! (There It Is)” on repeat.
* @ 8:15 p.m. Peak and freak, complete with waves of nausea and impending sense that we’ve taken too much acid.
–??? p.m. We both hallucinate that we’re traveling through a giant fallopian tube; amidst much fanfare, enter the gilded kingdom of Craplar & the Jello people; check into our penthouse suite at the Royal FaceMelt Lodge overlooking the Lake of Burning Dogshit; gaze out at the famous Chocolate Kloppervok smoke stacks where smog-images of Alicia Keys emanate nightly; enjoy the soothing sounds of screaming dirt-babies piped in over the government-sanctioned radio tube; have room service deliver a platter of neon eggs and colored farts (our stomachs are weightless!); comb our breaths; peer into each others souls for eternity; shortly after, telepathically make our way into Craplar’s Grande Ballroom.
Back To Reality
* 10:56 p.m. Scream heads off as we realize we’ve careened off the interstate, and driven the Hummer into a dumpster behind a T.G.I.F.
* 10:59 p.m. Struggle to back out of the parking lot as restaurant manager calls the cops.
* 11:15 p.m. Race to the launch party in a blind panic, calling coworkers to ask, “Did everybody wear their red hoodies?”
So, there you have it. Good times will be had by all. Let’s just hope things go as planned.
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Best blog ever!!!
ever ever.
Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
Wow.
AWSOME, STRANGELY ENOUGH THAT JUST HAPPEND TO ME LAST FRIDAY! L.O.L
CARGUYDB7.
Best time I’ve ever had on 285 was after leaving Backstreets at eight in the morning and sitting in rush hour traffic while X’ing balls.
Six snack wraps? You sure you weren’t already on munchies before you went tripping?
So…what ACTUALLY happened at the party???
Did it go as planned?
Well, the doses actually turned out to be laxatives. I spent the entire evening “indisposed.” Sucked.
It’s funny cause it’s realistic.
be sure to enjoy the trip. if you see any elves creating geometric shapes beat the crap out of them. thanks.
oh yeah, congratulations.
sounds like one not too shitty night
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god, this shit is dull. self-absorbed nothing.
holy shit i think i pissed in my pants
There better be free weed and drinks at this party, some LSD couldn’t hurt either.
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You don’t really need or want that lifestyle, it might hurt y’all slowly more…….Just tell him you
don’t wanna repeat something your not too proud of z7uas.