Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Live From the MoMa, it's My Friends Lack Class!



So last night your humble narrator attended the MoMA Party in the Garden, an event of all events. I know what you are thinking: how the hell did this hot mess get in and who the hell do I need to blow to get in next year? Well, you can just forget me inviting you next year to both the party and the after-party, which will be held at The Patriot in downtown Manhattan. Or, that is where I am having my party in the garden if you know what I am saying saying.

Anyhow, Uncle Jesse Katsopolis, our resident Greek Adonis, was at it again. This time he double fisted pomegranate martinis (Uncle Jesse doesn’t drink the cheap shit. EVER. It is only Andre champagne for this epitome of sophistication and elegance.) all night awaiting the performance of Estelle. After going outside to get my annoying, constantly late friend, I made my way to the front of the stage where Uncle Jesse was. It was at this point I heard “HEY GRRRL!!!” yelled at me and watched as Uncle Jesse hoisted himself on to a piece of stage apparatus and begun to hang off a pole. Meanwhile, his pomegranate martini sprayed the crowd. Disgusted by his movements being minimized by this glass, Uncle Jesse threw the glass on the ground, shattering it into pieces, likely injuring several people.

As he collapsed from the self-made sex podium, he attempted to dance up on a girl in the crowd who looked like she was about to cut his ass. It was at this point that Uncle Jesse was made to leave. Seven people strong, we carried the Greek’s drunken ass outside, where he refused to go home, lit a cigarette and attempted to go back into the MoMA. Oh, Uncle Jesse. You can be a drunk-ass bitch, but NO ONE smokes in the MoMA. It was at this point that security was called to restrain the Greek in his corner until a cab was stopped and he was loaded in and sent back to Jersey.

Don't all really amazingly trashy nights involve someone being sent back to Jersey?

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