Great night last night. My friend Pie, who everyone has been saying is “pretty much the Indian version of Vince from New Zealand”, takes us to his buddy’s house and I get to really experience some authentic Kiwi house partying.
One of the guys has an Aunt who works for American Honey (the WIld Turkey whiskey drink), and apparently she got ahold of a batch that somehow had gone sour (the sugar was crystallizing). Obviously, we could care less about some sugar in our whiskey, so we have a massive batch all to ourselves.
My buddy Nick put it well yesterday, “Drinking with the Kiwis is like drinking with Hobbits.” They’re just such a cheery little bunch. We spend the night singing, playing games, singing some more, and asking trivia off of our beer bottles.
To top off the night, Joe, the guy who’s house we were at, decides to make us all food. Somehow he manages to spill an entire carton of eggs on the ground, but we are not deterred. Joe and I scoop the eggs into a frying pan, straight off the ground, and happily serve the party “floor eggs”. They were a bit chalky, crunchy from the shells, and absolutely superb.
We look straight out of “Superbad”, all drinking our malfunctioning whiskey and munching on floor eggs. Joe would have been proud.
This morning, I wake up and find this note on the kitchen counter:
If you can't read it, it says "Message from Joe. Have gone to dispose of beer bottles & pick up some more floor eggs possibly bacon too"
Joe returns, and we all feast on hangover eggs, bacon, sausage, fresh milk, bread, and a mixture of beans and canned spaghetti that I expect Joe must be salivating over...
Joe was supposed to see them in Christchurch, but, as he playfully put “Christchurch concert rocked my world!! Oh wait that was an earthquake.”
You gotta start calling this guy Joe#2 or something. I keep reading about things I've done and then realize it's not me
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