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| I remember MY first cabin trip! |
Yup, it was time for cabin trip season to commence.
Saturday morning was a doozy. Many people awoke in areas of the house they didn't know existed, while some people woke up to people they didn't even know were on the trip. We had the hungover-as-fuck group who decided to stay in for the day while the other half took a gander at trying to shred. Many failed at attempting to be productive human beings while only the strong survived the day at Alpine. As Friday night gave many a run for their money, Saturday night blew some people minds....and loads.
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| A lil' SB & Davis lovin' going on |
The theme was BLT - No, no, we weren't doused with our favorite fried fatty pig meat and veggies, we were in Boxers, Lingerie and Towels! We're so damn creative, we'll admit it.
While some men in boxers, some women in bras and just others in mullets grooved to some Deadmou5, the night was soon carried away with Beer Olympics. We had a plethora of new and upcoming teams this year. Vatican City had vanished under a sea of tears and last years champ, the IRA, was M.I.A. Both teams were replaced by newer groups such as: Team Ottoman Empire (AKA IRA); Team Acid, Team Old As Fuck, Team Sweden, and of course Team Iowa (forgive me if I'm missing a few, I too was drunk as fuck).
As opening ceremonies were about to commence, tension began to heighten. Adrenaline pumped through each shot-gunners veins as he/she prepared him/her self for a night of heavy, competitive drinking.
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| The only way to open any ceremony - shotgun! |
War waged. Boat races were finished under 3 seconds. Quarters were plunked into unsuspecting shot glasses. Shots were fired during furious games of beer ball. And I'm pretty sure one person died whilst muttering the unforgiving word 'bizz'. When all was said and drunk, Team Old As Fuck prevailed, showing the youngsters how to drink a damn beer...and drink it good.
But the weekend wasn't over! Oh no, my friends. We were in for the long haul - for a three day marathon. Although Sunday morning proved to be slightly more brutal than the morning before, the third night was what separated the men from the wieners.
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| I am DEFINITELY not a wiener |
About a quarter of the people staying in cabin one had left which opened up some crucial rage-space. There was now room for more activities than ever before while combining a slightly more comfortable sleeping situation for all. Although the night was theme-less, there still seemed to a sparse supply of pants and shirts...which seems to be the standard protocol during a theme-less night.
Dupstep and old 90 classics blared on until the wee hours of the morn as some of the last standing tried to find a place on the crowded floor to sleep (many had even resulted to sleeping in closets). Even with only 3 hours of sleep, the die hards were awoken to 'The Circle of Life', even though no life in them seemed to exist:
Nants Ingonyama Bagithi Baba!!
The cabin was then furiously cleaned from 8-11am. The breakables were removed from their hidden closet, scuffs were washed from the walls, and footprints from whatever dumbfuck decided to walk up the stairs covered in what seemed like train coal were sprayed and scrubbed away as best as they could've been. As teary eyed cabin-goers sluggishly dragged their feet towards the door, their livers sighed in rejoice:
The weekend was over.
The memories that can't be recalled in the house on Dollar Point will be lost in a haze of black, gray and red. But hey, that's what cameras are for.
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| And remember: ALWAYS heckle whenever possible |
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