Hip-Hop Sushi Dance Party

Last night was very, very strange. It started with sake and ended with sex. In between I saw Sweet Kristopeit turn into the Madd Scientist, I got blasted with a fog machine while attempting to reach the bathroom, and I witnessed someone spill a bowl of Miso everywhere. Good thing I had the ol’ camera with.

So there’s this restaurant in Palo Alto, right by Stanford. It’s called Miyake’s, and it’s your typical sushi restaurant… by day. The first thing you notice when walking in are the vast array of various stage lighting accessories that you normally don’t find outside of a Whytesnake concert. Erin and I got there at around 7:30pm and met up with Kendric. We waited and soon Rougeyar and her friends showed up. We got seated and finally Judd, Sweet Kristopeit, and Scott walked through the door. Our sushi waiter was named Jose, and he wanted to know whether we wanted to start out with beer, or sake bombs. There were no other choices. Most of the table started with bombs, while Kendric and I just had beer. Sweet Kristopeit was sitting across the table from me with a look on his face. Judd had told him not to bring the Scientist out for the night. Mike was only allowed to come as Sweet Kristopeit. That idea went out the window after the first sake bomb:



Caption: No caption required.


The deal with sake bombs at this place is thus: all of the lights turn off, they turn up the already loud techo/hip-hop music even louder, everyone stands on their chairs, the fog machine does its thug-thizzle, the strobe lights come on, and then the waiters get up on chairs and yell “When I say sake, you say bomb! sake!” and the crowd yells along with them. Then everyone does their shot. Then you get off your chair, wait 3 minutes (or less), and do it all again. Seriously. It’s not like this happens every 30 minutes or something. It happens every 5 minutes. Meanwhile, you’re chugging beers as fast as they’ll bring them and eating as much sushi as you can stuff in your gullet. Madd Scientist showed up minutes after the above picture was taken, and he was slobbering drunk within 15-30 minutes. Scott had about 5 sake bombs in 15 minutes (or less). Erin was a fucking sake maniac, and she tapped out due to drunkeness at around 9:15 or 9:30pm. I had one half-sake bomb, but other than that I only had beer (I was the driver!). I also had some awesome tuna sashimi.

At one point, Madd picks up a beer and a shot of sake and walks away from the table. We’re all trying to figure out what the hell he’s doing. It turns out he wanted to talk to some of the other patrons of the fine establishment. He took a small tour of the restaurant with his beverages, which I managed to capture on film:



TRUE: At one table he stopped, stole someone’s sushi, and ate it.
FALSE: He was flirting with the guy in the bottom-right picture.


Shortly after this, he tried to climb a window and was shut down by Jose, our friendly sushi waiter. In response to the waiters pulling Madd off the window, Madd shouted, “Jose! Ole!”

So, basically we sat down at 8pm and by 9:45pm practically everyone was, as Madd put it at one alcohol-soaked point, verschnickered. Erin whispered sweet nothings into my ear for a few minutes, then I knocked a glass of beer onto her, then she chugged another beer, then she whispered naughtier nothings into my ear, then I decided we better go home. So we paid our part of the $303 tab and jetted. I said bye to Judd on the way out and he created a puppet show with his hand that I will recreate using ASCII art:


O —
Figure 1

–O-
Figure 2


So me and erin went home, where she proceeded to throw up and pass out. the end.

[ed. note] Erin did not like it that I portrayed the end of the night as we went home and she passed out. So, here’s the real ending to the story:

So me and erin went home, had sex twice, then she threw up and I passed out. the end.

epilogue: I am interested to know how many beers we ended up paying for and how many pitchers of sake we ended up paying for, all told. My guess: a shitload.

–whazz on

26 thoughts on “Hip-Hop Sushi Dance Party

  1. i just noticed the last 3 posts were all involving my liquor consumption habits… hmm.

  2. Does anyone want to go to the Andre Nickatina CR3 Preview Party May 17th in Gilroy, CA at the Gaslighter(7430 Monterey Blvd)? Its a mere 35 minute drive away and if things work out right, we crash with some hot, drunk chicks we meet at the concert.

  3. Cal, ask Lovely Nora if I can have her tickets to the Brewers/Twins game on Sunday, June 29th.

  4. Look dude, you can either shake your ass in Milwaukee at a steelworker and his girlfriend on Water Street, or shake your ass in Madison where there is a slightly better chance of finding a college-aged hot girl. Besides, the post-b-party party is not just b-party dudes. It is everyone from b-party plus everyone from bachelorette party, plus anyone else we want to invite. You may even have the opportunity to mack on my 19 yr old sister, S Fitty.

  5. For those who desperately seek pussy, I put the question to wirkuswhazz. As the planner, what are your opinions of letting random chicks into the party? I think I nkow what your opinion will be, but tell us all anyways.

  6. I assumed that most people would want to login if they had one, so I defaulted the focus in the window to the login fields. Since this is not the case, I will remove this.

  7. Madd, it is kind of a whole bar. Monmarte is split in two with two enterances. We have one whole side of the bar.

  8. Ok, that party where Alona learned to hate me ranks in my top 5 drunkest Ive ever been in my life. If I have just drunk a pint of whiskey and you ask me about something that Im passionate about, such as literature or the Brewers, I might get a little overbearing. Alona asked me about Hemingway, and I gave her my opinion. Even in my drunken state, I remember that we were discussing the ending of For Who the Bell Tolls. And now I ask you whazzers, what word better describes that ending than Visceral? Even if you dont like Hemingway there is no denying that his writing is great art. I hate Toni Morrison, but I am still intelligent enough to acknowledge that her writing is top notch. So Alona hates me because I shared my strong opinions about Hemingway during a conversation that she started. Fine. My drunken belligerency was better than bubbles that came out of her mouth.

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