Bob's final preliminary wet T-shirt contest was last night at TQ2. I was supposed to be a judge, having won a doorprize on Tuesday that bestowed the honor upon me. However, my frat-boy mentality has been wholly and fully pulverized by 20 years of hedonistic living, so that even life's most decadent happenings can barely draw a proper whoop-whoop from my lungs.
Therefore I gave my judging duties to Aussie Owen, a shaved-headed, grey-goateed, bespectacled, chubuscular biker-guy with a big devlish grin and a high pitched voice that is perfect for shouting "I'm not getting off this stage until I've tasted every one of you!!!"
And I chose absolutely right: I had much more fun watching Owen chasing the nude, wet, mortified girls around on stage than I would have from judging a dozen wet T-shirt contests.
The finals are next week. They should let me pick the judges.
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