THE CRUSHING GRIP OF SOBRIETY, or I'm Pretty Sure Ward Tefft Is Trying To Kill Me. Part The First.

Seriously. Curtis, Tony and Shelley too. The sadism involved in throwing a four-day long festival of drunkenness in a city whose greatest claim to fame is most likely endemic heavy drinking boggles the mind. Ostensibly a celebration of Friendship, Best Friends Day is really a celebration of Beer. If you don't believe me, go to flickr and search for Best Friends Day. I fucking challenge I say again FUCKING CHALLENGE you to find ONE picture with more than two people in it that does not also contain an alcoholic beverage. Prove me wrong.

All of this is really I suppose to say I have some lingering questions about events that transpired over the course of the weekend. Questions which of course I will not immediately raise. Stay with me, dear readers, let me take you on a little journey.

Bo goddamned Dillas. If you haven't heard, let me be the first to warn you: DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES EAT FOOD PREPARED AT THIS ABOMINATION OF A RESTAURANT. While there wasn't really ever a possibility of me going to the plaza bowl kick-off party due to currency concerns, I still felt kinda bad for not going, however I stayed in the spirit of BFD by having a few beers and some "food" and so forth with one of my best friends. An unusually low key beginning to the high-intensity weekend to come. And but so the morning of August 21 came to begin with what I have termed (and I'm really proud of this bon mot) BoDillahhrea. Massive, epic, stinky, stomach-like-a-boiling-cauldron-of-foulness BoDillahhrea. And only perseverance and a inhuman amount of coffee tamed the beast in my belly until I could start drinking, but more on that later.

I had official responsibilities for the scavenger hunt's first day. So after dropping off some paperwork from my menial data entry job, I made my way to geometry park for Kiss And Smell, the world's most disgusting kissing booth. For a thousand points, a team would volunteer some brave/unsuspecting soul to make out with me for twenty seconds. Easy enough, until you consider that I would chew a whole raw clove of garlic and gargle with vinegar right beforehand. three (actually I think it was two) teams braved the smell and taste before the rainstorm cut things short. A video team from RVA.tv came and interviewed me, and I tipped them off about the halftime meetup at Holly St. Park. After being turned down for a ride but given some rum as a consolation prize, I braved the torrential downpour and walked to Holly St. Park. Of course, about two blocks away from the park I ran into some lost out-of-towners looking for the meetup, and got a ride and gave directions. Once there, I offered to do a bit more making out, since the rain cut about fifteen minutes off the advertised window of time. I think the RVA guys got some good footage of me making out with a very creative kisser. I've heard of a finger in the asshole dring a blowjoy, but never a finger in the nose during a makeout session. There's a first time for everything, I am to understand.

• TOTAL TALLY OF MAKEOUTS: two girls, three guys.
• TOTAL TIME I HAD THE DISGUSTING TASTE OF GARLIC AND SUSHI VINEGAR IN MY MOUTH: about four and a half hours.
• TOTALLY WORTH IT: yes.

Using my semi-authority as a judge or point-assigner or whatever, I bribed some free beers from some of the teams with a pathetically small amount of points, and watched an awesome water balloon toss in the rain turn into a water balloon free-for-all in the rain. And, of course, the rain abated almost the exact moment the last water balloon was tossed. The steam rising off the asphalt basketball court was surreal. Not being in the scavenger Hunt, I asked Ward where the chilling spot was so I could have a few beers before I was to meet some friends for a house show and everyone else was going to Alley Katz for the Strike Anywhere show.

COMING UP IN PART THE SECOND: ALLEY KATZ, A PROBABLY-WAY-TOO-DETAILED ANALYSIS OF TIME TRAVEL AND I SOMEHOW GET HOME. ALSO, WHY I SHOULD HAVE GOTTEN STITCHES.