An homage to Brothers Bonded by Vegas.

I woke up this morning in a rundown college house with my shoes missing and of course some drunken fucker thinks the couch is the bathroom and is pissing on me. After I push him out of the way to get up, I realize i’m still rolling from Skrillex last night and stood up far too quickly, I get lightheaded and black out on the floor. When I awoke for the second time, only one thought surged with enough energy to allow my brain to pick my drug-riddled body off of that urine soaked floor……..Vegas. 

In less than 96 hours all of us will be descending upon this city with awful awful intentions. I’ve literally been traveling non-stop for the past year doing copious amounts of things that are bad for you: wandering the city streets coked out of my mind at 5 am, taking 20 shots of vodka to the face in under a minute, purchasing ladies of the night by the handful, spending tens of thousands on concerts and shows, flying tweaked out ravers cross-country so that I can say i’ve done blow off a tiny columbian girl named skittles while fucking her with rave gloves on. And yet, despite all these epic adventures, despite the veteran group of monsters, rockstars and hooligans coming together for this trip, I find myself inexplicably horrified by the unknown potential of this forthcoming weekend. 

Throughout the annals of history I do not believe there has ever been a group of individuals as reckless and painfully unaware of consequences and mortality as those of us who are on this select list. I mean who the fuck in their right mind gives the animals the keys to the Zoo with limitless resources?!?! It’s unheard of, we belong in gutters and ditches, not penthouses and VIP tables. And yet here we stand, a mere four days away from being royalty. Which is why I know these coming pleas will not fall on deaf ears. I implore you all to drowned all reservations and fears in ketal one and jack daniels to enshroud your dignity and pride in an inexcusably large pile of blow, and to bury any decent or moral thoughts in a pair of some strippers huge fake tits (preferably one from spearmint rhino, but really any tits will do). 

In life you are only allotted a finite amount of opportunities to be completely and utterly unencumbered by the doldrums of reality. Eventually we all start puking black, having holes in our memory and accidently hooking up with trannies (or is that last one just me?). Never in our lives will we have such an embarrassment of drugs, youth, means and a goddamn wrecking ball of a crew than we will for these four days. So I implore you all to throw down that extra 100 on black, to take that last line to the face, to slap the shit out of Kandi when you paid 400 bucks and for some ungodly reason her lips arent wrapped securely around your penis. This is the perfect storm of partying and we must embrace the ridiculousness…..

In closing, I’m reminded of a story Drew told me a ways back. We were in Miami two years ago for the Ultra Music Festival. On the second day young Drew was meandering through the festivities he saw a young man rocking back and forth in the fetal position against one of the many chain-link fences. The only words the man could utter were, “This is not real….this…is…not….real….” Eventually a cop comes up to the tweaker and asks the young man simple questions to make sure he is ok, again the guy is off his fucking rocker and only repeats those four erie words, “This is not….real” Finally the cop is fed up with the situation and gets down and looks the tweaker in his quarter-sized pupils and yells, “Son, this is VERY real.” and proceeds to book the tweaker for god knows how long and who the fuck knows where. 

Now, in life, 99.99999% of the time the officer in the story is obviously correct, and the tweaker has clearly taken some awful shit (i would guess green transformers but who the fuck knows). However, for this weekend, we are the exception to the foundational logic of this tale. Gentlemen, this is not real. This is off-the-grid shit, this is lost in space partying, this is the deep sea exploration of raging. 

This is legend…..who the fuck is ready?

I love you all very much

PS: if I die on this trip (probability in the 24-36% range, which we should totally bet on at the sportsbook by the way) I want you to bury me in the Las Vegas desert, then I want you all to take copious amount of rolls and rave in the desert. These are the last requests of someone who took partying and fun a little too seriously. Kisses.

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