The Bicentennial was held this weekend, and to tell you the truth, I didn't have that much fun. What was supposed to be a high-class afternoon of croquet and lobster bisque turned into booze soaked evening of wildnerness exploration and pinata fires. In other words, it was the greatest night in the history of Powell Manor. Read More for the pics and the breakdown.
The point of this get-together was to celebrate the 200th post of Goulash, and also to distribute the prizes for the haiku contest. As is the custom with most haiku contests, the prize was a chocolate cake with the winners' names on it. Note that at this point, the names on the cake did not include Stephen's, even though he was a rightful winner. When this was noticed, the cake makers were thrashed and thrown in a tar pit.
A special recon mission Saturday afternoon by Cooter, DFJ, and myself turned up this, which was to be the treasure of the evening. At this point, it has yet to be engulfed in flames.
The original plan, to stuff Raphael with little bottles of liquor, did not come to fruition. In retrospect, this was a good idea. We settled for candy instead.
HoPo and the Dinasaur flesh out their plans to kill me and steal the pinata. Keep dreaming, ladies.
A shadowy figure emerges from the parking lot. He locates a dirty, drunken, disheveled man and asks the most unnecessary question ever, "Is this the goulash party?" Welcome home, Stephen Fay, haiku champion.
Damon brandishes the pinata whuppin' stick. Things are about to get lively.
Danza winds up.
We've known Stephen for 15 minutes and he's already blindfolded and fighting for candy.
Raphael spills his delicious candy innards.
Boj gave Raphael a viking funeral out in the woods behind my apartment. The Austin Fire and Police Departments made appearances shortly thereafter. We agreed to disagree on the subject of pinata fires.
Following the pinata fire, the women made the wise decision to segregate themselves. Danza looks on with longing in his eyes.
I heard someone say one time that it was possible to have a party without a circle of Jager. I promptly boxed her ears and told her she could forget about Mother's Day this year.
Ditto for the topless box.
Ultimately, the Bicentennial was a rare night where both triumph and destiny collided. Two years from now, when Goulash is super famous and I have my own brand of cereal, we'll all act amused when Matt Damon and Star Jones light the pinata on fire at the Dodecacentennial. But on the inside, we'll be shaking our heads because those fools have no idea. No idea at all.
Five months until Tricentennial. Clear your calendars.