Ken you feel the love tonight...
Through the combined efforts of the village we were able to pull off Ken's surprise party. (To certain degrees. Not a slam dunk but a nice hook shot anyway. Next time, total media blackout. And maybe a faster runner. Hehe.) Food was good. Place was good. Guests were good aside from the fact that the combined drinking power of the lot couldn't consume the measely 3 cases of bree we had reserved although Ken's college friends did put up a good fight. (Sinong nag-placing?!?) Ken probably chugged down a sizeable percent amount of the booze we did drink up. He was still with the hangover and crapping the whole day afterwards. Your basic symptoms of your average partied hard man. (According to his dad: "Kenji like that. Him drink alot and then shit the next day.") And what was the guest list like? Well, there were of course a few "attached" hotties, but for the most part, total weiner party. (Which is a good thing the wet Tshirt party idea didn't push through.) I will remember those last few moments right before the party. (First hand accounts from multiple sources, pieced together to bring you the true story.)

ETD from the apartment was at 2030H, when Birthday Boy appeared, who according to him was expecting a party then and there. All he got was a couple of my friends ready to paint the town red and a sister just about ready for work. (We were so totally faking it.) Unbeknownst to Ken, we had several props well hidden in our set. The cake on top of the cabinets. Gifts under the beds. Some party favors hidden in plain site. When we gave him the idea we were leaving (He couldn't possibly any of us since we previously set it up that his friends would come pick him up for their supposedly regular Friday night netgames.) he asks us if he can just hang out instead. Helen gets the bright idea to call their older sister to call Ken and ask him to run upstairs to fix a PC problem which (for the love of...) WORKS! And we make it past the apartment and unto Libis with our party thingies right after he leaves. Leaves us with that look of disappointment only seen as a direct result of making a grown man cry. That look of a seven year old child who didn't get that GI Joe Amphibious Tank WARTHOG with 2 detachable SILO missles plus Sgt. Slaughter action figure included for Christmas. Or at 12 when you didn't get that cool Trapper Keeper everyone else was sporting at school. Then at 15 when every other Joe had a pair of Joe-ordan 12's. (Except you.) and at 21 when all you wanted was to join their lame, stupid, dumbass college organization but they were all like "You can't join! You're not an BS Home Economics student majoring in Textiles and Clothing!" That just ain't right. That IS messed up.

Anyhoo, the party was a blast as life is a BLAST. So go on and have a blast. We all deserve it. Sometimes...

(Oh yeah. And it was this blog that spilled the beans and ratted us out to begin with.)