The figure skater had some beautiful moves. His friend (lower left), tried to call to him when the first cracks in the ice appeared, but it was no use. The skater sank to the bottom with style, no points for the water landing though.
Lora was having fun teaching Christy a little game. Grab the opposite butt cheek of some guy in a club, and look away as they turn around to blame some unsuspecting woman. The man in the yellow shirt was victim number 16 for the night.
As the fog got thicker, panic set it. Paka entered a state of delirium in which he believed halitosis would dissolve the fog, clearing a path to freedom.
Steve & the moon, separated at birth. No really, he was born in space.
Word travels fast.
While traveling down the freeway at a high speed, a bird committed suicide by ramming itself into Andy's antenna and side mirror. Besides the obvious sadness due to lost radio reception, we were also disturbed by the lack of vehicular education in bird schools nowadays.
After such a nice Brother/Sister moment, Andy didn't quite know how to tell Gina that he had spilled half his drink down the back of her dress.
Randall: Hehe...hehe....that bird bit it.
Christy: Mhhhha...heheh...busted antenna funny.
Randall: My finger smells like gasoline. hehehehe
Christy: hehehehe...cool.
Off our meds.
Chris: What do you mean this isn't beer?!
The heavy fog gave Wes the perfect cover to indulge in his true love: thievery.
Lora: He's got it all wrong! It's sand the floor, sand the floor, wax on, wax off, paint the fence. This DJ sucks.
Nothing brings a group together like a photograph. Except maybe a 30mph collision on the slopes. But let's not dwell on what we cannot change.
"Why are you touching my thigh? No no...don't stop."
