Good Lord

What a MESS.

We were slotted to have a nice, quiet afterhours the other morning, and well, it got a little out of hand.

A little over a hundred people jam packed into my apartment. I JUST finished cleaning.

What I’m about to say may sound a little racist, but I don’t care, because it’s true. Private party afterhours attract cracked out Russians like moths to a burning crack rock.

And they refused to leave.

You know how they say that house guests and fish have a shelf life of about three days? Well cracked out Russian party crashers clock in at about the same time as a milk in a locked car sitting in the parking lot of a Phoenix, Arizona Walmart in August.