This gesture somehow evoked Bon Jovi, or summoned Lucifer, or something. Whatever it was, I think Alex held on to that guy's hand just a few seconds too long.
Alex has showing random strangers hand games from elementary school. You know, in case they skipped that part of life and went straight on to college.
Paka (internal): It's good to still be the king.
Andria: Here is a flower, the symbol of love, of peace, of...wait! This thing is fake! This is a symbol of how cheap that mariachi band was. And they had my love *sniff*.
Kids, never pierce your nipple on a bet.
Paka (internal): Oh yeah, I always get to sit with the honeys. This 'touch-me' shirt works wonders. Thank you polyester!
Alex's offer of marriage to the bouncer was soundly rejected when his 'engagement egg' was unceremoniously smashed on his head.
Alex: 8-ball, corner pocket. Cue ball, side pocket. Wow, this makes me want to play some pocket pool, if you know what i mean. Eh, eh?!
Jen was used to Alex's antics, but the full body checking he was administering to each bar patron may be taken the wrong way by some.
Having had enough of dive bars, we headed out to the next logical place for our fiesta filled evening: the bowling alley.
The confetti egg business seemed innocent enough; until we noticed the phrase 'You have the ebola virus! Go to your egg vendor for the cure.' written on each tiny piece of confetti.
Alex: Oh, was that my hand? Sorry. I thought I was pinching my own ass. You understand.
These are confetti eggs smashed against your friend's head. Any questions?
It turns out that, much like chickens, eggs cannot fly, no matter how hard you throw them upwards.
