Oh, what a night. Sweet, Cone in heaven, what a night.

I got a call on my mobile cone from my friend, Billy the Barrel, saying, “Yes HAHA Yes Crazy Blllll AHHHHH!” I thought, “Well that is typical Billy.” Then I saw a text from him letting me know he was in the middle of his usual Friday Barrel of Fun party. I would have stayed home anyway as I don’t like to be around crowds since I work in traffic all day. However, I decided to go when I saw from Billy that a cone I fancy would be there.

When I arrived, the party was complete chaos. People were doing barrel stands, making out in the kitchen and even floating drunkenly in the bathtub.

Then I saw her.

She was in a crowd, but I recognized her special reflective tube top right away. That top could stop traffic (and sometimes does). I saw her. I walked over. I talked to her.

Well, not exactly.

I knew I would need some courage before I could speak to her, so I poured some coneac (cone-yak) into a red, plastic cup and drank it down. After the first embarrassing burp, I knew I was going to need a lot more to be bold.

I never did quite find that right balance between drunken courage and drunken stupor.

Long story short (“Too late!” as my friends who love pop culture references would yell at this point), I found myself sprawled out on the ground in front of a grocery store with a cap of shame atop my head and the vague recollection of never quite managing to cross the room to speak with the cone I adore.

I am cowardly.

I am hungover.

I am Cone Alone.

Ooooh, the shame