Miami Nights

So in case you didn't get the memo, I got super trashed at the Vagabond on last Friday. I blame everyone except me for contributing to my alcoholism. It was one of those nights were you blackout and you have to hear everyone telling you how stupid you were the night before. Funny thing was my friend and I were so trashed we woke up the next day thinking we acted like perfect gentlemen. But I sort of had a feeling some shit went down when I notice my jeans were covered in pink residue. Can someone please explain to me how this happened?

Well at some point during my alcohol-filled night, I realized I had misplaced my Blackberry, and this was the final conversation I had between it and myself the following day at 3 p.m.:

Me: Reward if found.

Douchebag: How much? Found phone in taxi cab.

Me: $50

DB: LOL that's the best you can offer?

Here my friend, whose place I slept at because I was no condition to drive home, took over the conversation:

Friend: Keep it cocksucker.

DB: Cab ride to South Beach, $10. Your phone, priceless to you fuck boy.

Friend: Karma is a bitch.

I'm still grieving the loss of my phone. We had so many good times. Years of networking gone down the drain, and because I'm still in between jobs I can't afford to replace it even with the insurance coverage.