Why Does An Evening of Drinking Always Devolve to Bouts of Man-on-Man Loving?

So after hosting a party at our house for New Year's Eve, spending the entire day after (with the sole exception of getting pizza from the delivery guy) in bed recovering from drinking more champagne than an entire wedding party, and Monday cleaning up from said party, I still want nothing more than to crawl back to bed . But alas, my "boss" thinks I should be at "work" to "get some shit done already" so that's not an option.

The New Year's party at our house offered poker (third place, bitches), darts, Donkey Konga (yes, that's the one with the bongos) (now I KNOW you're jealous), a keg, two giant bottles of Sky, sixteen cans of Red Bull, shrimp cocktails, chips and salsa, and lots of lots of champagne. And that's just what we had. Our guests, all being alcoholics of varying stages, brought enough liquor to satisfy even Jenna Bush. I would have said Tara Reid, but I don't know that there's a level of satisfaction to be reached there.

I think this photograph does a supreme job of summarizing my evening:

A little man-love never hurt anyone:

An evening of bongos, darts, and poker:

And booze:

Which quickly escalated into violence:

And a death:

Keeping the dead company:

But it's okay, we saved her:

There was also a strange series of pictures taken in a kitchen sink that was sitting in the garage. I don't know what these are all about:

And several cases of ambush photography:

How we were seeing things by the end of the evening:

What happens when you try to get a nice picture of the girls:

But it's okay, we got some later when they were occupied by X-Box 360:

And finally, a comparison between the first picture, taken at 7:36 PM, and the last picture, taken at 6:09 AM: