The Roast is over. Marc is thirty. It was a beautiful affair, all were humiliated, all of us were exposed using the worst of lighting conditions. It’s awe-inspiring how by getting together, ten plus one, out of love for the one, and revealing the worst of ourselves we showed our best. The wounds will take thirty years to heal, the scars vibrant and pink until death. The audience will forever be traumatized.
I will spare you the self deprecating comments of the failures of my speech, especially compared to the eloquence and magnificence of those who surrounded me that night.
It ended too quickly, like youth.
If I get a copy of the two hour event, pirate copies will hopefully be had here.