Beach Sloth's Birthday Bash Coverage

Beach Sloth & Co. were determined to ‘party like a blog star’ and their goal was met, hands were shook, bros (nongender specific) were hugged, lit was read, songs were sung, and lives were changed.

The crowd on the roof began gathering at the designated time of 8PM. After 15 minutes or so everyone began to wonder where the birthday sloth was. We were certain we had the right rooftop, so we continued to wait. No one was surprised by this lack of punctuality, sloths are slow, even that kid Jeremy I went to middle school with who pulled his penis out every time a bell rang knew that. Everyone in my class dreaded fire drills. To this day every time a cell phone with a bell ringtones goes off, I think of Jeremy’s penis, bouncing around the classroom. But Jeremy wasn’t there that fateful night, or maybe he was, I don’t remember hearing any bells.

After 37 minutes of waiting (I own a watch, I’m a professional) there was an ominous screech, everyone looked in its direction and saw a figure swinging from the next building over on a rope. I have to give it to him, Beach Sloth knows how to make an entrance. Beach Sloth is holding up remarkably well for 39, but 39 in human years is only around 23 sloth years, well within the ideal range for alt lit.

An entire alt litter of URL people appeared IRL. Guillaume Morissette. Lucy K Shaw. Santino Dela. Steve “The Cockman” Roggenbuck. Spencer Madsen. All on deck. All ready to make their word offerings at the 3 toed feet of the sloth god. Would he be pleased? Of course he would. The sloth is benevolent and the sloth is longsuffering.

Santino Dela made his verbal sacrifice first. And, holy shit, that man can talk. I thought his twitter was intense. This is the man that wrote 100 poems in one day. And even more impressive, they were actually good. I was so entranced by his wordsmithery, I forgot to check my watch for an exact time, but I’m fairly certain he read nonstop for 6 days because he created an entire “boosted fricked the frick up” world out utter nothingness. And then he rested, and all the guests said that it was good.

LK was on deck next. She is a famous Canadian musician. Did you know Canadians made music? Now you do. She kicked out the jams and pumped up the juice. Lighters were waved during one particularly soulful number. The roof was nearly caved in from the foot stomping of the crowd during another. Everyone had to take breather after that set. LK brought the funk, slapped us in the face with it, and then gently set the funk back down in its original resting place.

Once everyone had recovered from the Funk Slap, Guillaume Morissette read.He was literally carrying a baguette and a bottle of Pouilly-Fumé Coteau des Girarmes, smoking three cigarettes, wearing a beret, and sporting a mustache through the entire reading. It was the most french thing I’ve ever seen. But he pulled it off. After he read and finished smoking/drinking/eating his cigarettes/wine/baguette/mustache/beret France’s image in American was permanently uplifted.

Chants of “666…666…666…” began to fill the air and Steve Roggenbuck rose from the shadows in his infamous Pikachu helmet. Steve’s reading was exactly what everyone has come to expect from a Roggen-reading. Chakras were fricked, cockboys were boosted, Satan was praised. Steve didn’t let the crowd’s adulation faze him. He finished in a timely manner, picked up his macbook, sat down, and continued to live his lief.

Spencer Madsen was supposed to finish the reading, but he had already fallen deeply in love and absconded. After the festivities were over we were all informed that Spencer’s love was actually a Taco Bell Doritos Locos Taco. Don’t worry Spencer, we’ve all made that mistake. Some of us many times. Even though Spencer wasn’t able to read for himself, his cat took over, reading passages from A Million Bears. And that cat went hard in the muthafuckin lit. I’ve never heard a cat read with such fiery passion. Spencer, don’t ever forget this, you raised that cat right.

And then, the readings were over. The party continued to rage (responsibly). Beach Sloth felt thoroughly loved, and when he crawled into his [whatever sloths sleep in…a tree, maybe?] he felt a profound peace. He had done it. He had won at IRL.