Luke Sick’s Bloomefit Recap. “Unforgurpable”
Posted by Thuggy
It’s not an act; it’s what we do.
I’m your typical Gurp City resident. When I go to a house party, I like to drink on an empty stomach and go out my fucking body. I don’t wanna look cool and have intelligent conversation, and I got in-house, so I’m not trying to preen for the dirty ones either. You ain’t gonna catch me with bottled water. I’m trying to get drunk and stoned, period. I’m that motherfucker you worry about pissing in the living room. I don’t drink and politely resign to a cubby hole when it’s time for beddy-bye either. I drink until I can’t move and my brain cannot form the images necessary for vision, and then I just stay where I am till that’s over. Anybody that’s done Ketamine knows what I’m talking about; it’s like I drink myself into an alcoholic K-hole. Yeah, worry about me, dude. I’m the guy singing along to NWA’s “Gangsta Gangsta” in an Axl Rose voice (post-facelift), and basically acting like a seventh-grader off his first sixer. And sweating profusely is a big part of it. So is doing the Get Low. But I can’t cuz I’m drunk and fat and uncoordinated even when sober and not from Fillmore, so I just watch other motherfuckers. And don’t let me get near the turntables, ’cause I’ll just play all my own shit. I like to be piss drunk and shameless. It’s how I have fun. I’ve been doing the exact same thing for over 20 years. And I love it. And my friends don’t mind, ’cause they do it too. Most everybody I know already knows this, but I’ll say it anyway: Presenting the façade of a baller, well-paid and reserved with a fat cigar and brandy-snifter balanced nimbly in one’s fingers isn’t even a millionth as fun as getting blurry and causing a ruck, reaching out your filthy forty-grippers for anything liquid (even if it’s pink and coconut-flavored) or smoke-able and cracking yourself the fuck up.
All this being said, I tend to be a pretty annoying drunk to those that consider themselves grown, too cool for anything that’s not Jameson and Pabst, or above the art blacking out and acting a fuckin’ fool, and I usually get yelled at, kicked out of places, and punched hard for mouthing off to someone I shouldn’t have. But ya know we gotta say fuck it to that, ’cause if we didn’t we wouldn’t have nearly as much fun. The Bloomefit was a perfectly tolerant place to flex this type of personal freedom for alcoholic enjoyment. It might’ve been the last total retardo throwdown for a long time as all the ranchers are hittin’ the wind and working on their solo projects, and I just want to thank everybody who organized the shin-dig and gave us an outlet to do our favorite thing, and I think all the gurpos in attendance share my gratitude. And the coolest part about it was that it wasn’t to make ourselves look good, feel cool, make money, or shamelessly promote; we did it to help out our relly, Lord Facials. Basically, this is all a disclaimer for why I drank the “Dean Juice” and got on dean and why I look like such a baby mook in the footage from that Lean Night (all this shit was inspired by Unforgivable on youtube which was in heavy rotation at the Bloomefit; watch that shit.) The sting of embarrassment now after-the-fact just reminds me of the balls out good time I had, or at least I keep telling myself that to steer clear of regrets. Quote of the night, I’m not gonna say who said it: “She’s nice with the head game, but that bitch just won’t shut up!” Thanks to all the fools who DJed (Loomis, Aye Jay, Heathakilla, Brandon B yo Count: thanks for the sneak preview screening of “Block Monster”—fools are gonna flip over that shit when you get it edited—y’all thought Father Rick was funny, sheee–it, etc.) which provided the soundtrack towards my eventual Dean-ism, thanks to G-pek for mixin’ the Juice, thanks to E-Rock for the ride, thanks to Paul for telling us to turn it down when the Neighbor yelled in desperation: “Lower The Bass!,” thanks to Alan for making the fresh hoodies, thanks to Thuggy for bringing his camera and making Me and Pek look like the true goons we are, thanks to E, Lydia, Sammy, and Sammy’s boy who drove all the way back to Sac or some shit that night, and anybody else that passed the grapes in clear papes, and thanks to that motherfuckin’ lowlife that stole Corey’s lap-top and gave us a reason to have the party in the first place.
I fuckin’ love that shit. It’s what the City’s all about… Gurp , gurp. You are a basehead. I can see it in your eyes. Don’t fight it. Go to sleep.
