Firestorm, the improv comedy team I perform on, decided to hold a practice Thursday night. After a warm up of our twisted schism of Blue Ball, Red Ball, Yellow Ball the Carvel ice cream cup faces came out. Birthday song deliciously befouled, sick humor style. Enjoyed pushing a spoon through jewel icing smiles and sprinkles hair. Simple and sweet surprise, not involving the general public at a restaurant or other some such groanery. Decent.

They insisted on buying me dinner at Mugs. They gots wummerful chicken wangs there. Ya haw haw. Had a completely onomatopoeic conversation about bachelor party debauchery. Ate the residual severly butter laden potato mash of one of my fellow diners using a celery stick as a scoop. Earned a screw face stare from the waitress for some naughty comment. Headed back to sweet sweet Manhattan for more joy making with the posse.

Advantageous positioning of crew. Mickey's Blue Room around the corner from my crib. Walked on in, cute bartender primed by a mischievious fellow. Grappled me and inserted tequila. Casually debated within myself earlier on the difficulty of maintaining my self imposed sobriety on my birthday night. Hard to refuse booze raining from above as your head is nestled within the jello like comfort of a pair of supple tits.

Played much stick. Conquered many fools.

One homie was tugged at by pussy to go to 119. Seven of us piled into a hatchback. Was about this time, hairy beanbag methodically flattening with thigh pressure, that my brain remembered to protest going to the shitty bar. Step in to the place, yep it was predictably shitty. Sucked back a drink and headed out the door.

Closed up Musical Box. Bit of a rowe with the bouncer over closing up the pool table. Was decided that Musical Box shall get the bozack, gas face, heisman, chump status, and all the kiss my fucking ass they want. Red X through another joint succumbing to lame disease.

Key through front door. Elevator ride. Key through apartment door. Flashing lights on the answering machine.

Several messages from across the bubble wishing me good aging tidings. Seeing as my underlying bday goal of hooking up with some strange was an abysmal failure, the voice of a familiar fuck buddy was the best present of the evening. Mmmmmmmm familiar. Gave a ringy dingy. She was at my door in ten minutes. She must have been playing with herself in the cab cause her pussy was wet walking through the door. Called out sick the next day in order to have extensive and unrushed morning sex. Fairly severe bite mark just above my left nipple. Saucy little minx. Still in enjoyable aches today.

Some sage advice from a freak one year wiser: you gotta keep your cock wet, without proper watering it'll never flourish.