Oh, Brian. I'd known him for less than 24 hours when watching him try to dye his pubes blue. A few hours before he'd seen me topless and soon after the unsuccessful tinting, we were naked outfitting each other in red saran wrap. Now that's comfort!

While it shouldn't have surprised me with this crowd, it's amazing to see just how many people were willing to get naked in the name of fun. These are my type of people.

Since Brian chronicled the day quite eloquently, I will highlight my favorite moments.

The Lindsay Lohans emerged from their rented SUV in wonderful disguises (full length beard & stash, mullet wigs, short shorts) which made their stretching on the sidewalk all the more hilarious.

We bullshitted our way into getting most of these pictures, like telling a cop on 44th Street it's for charity, then walking over to Times Square with a hand-made sign that said, "You're a Cunt!" (which was taken next to a guy shouting Bible verses). But my favorite lie had to be when Jewels told the gals at Mickey D's that Brian was from the Netherlands and never had a Big Mac before (while he spoke the only Dutch phrase he knew, "The better to eat you with."). The actually let him behind the counter for a photo op. Glorious.

The judges awarded us extra points for the Gap bag prominently featured in our all in one stall with Brian's head in the toilet at the men's room Marriot Marquis photo.

The seven-year-old kid who instantly hit puberty because he just happened to be walking by with his father as I pulled my top down in the police van was quite comical as well.

In Toys-R-Us, we got our all-five-team-members-shaking-hands-with-five-different-children-in-one-photo photo. The judges gave us extra points cause the mom's sausage arms holding the video camera was captured in the bottom of the frame.

On the way out, I spotted "Gayest Child." He was brooding up against a column. Couldn't have been older than twelve, wearing a yellow Hilfiger polo shirt, collar up. Bleach blonde hair, woven choker with shells, baseball cap, cargo pants and Clarks completed the outfit. He was a NAMBLA fantasy come true. We lost to a more flamboyant child doing jazz hands. Oh well- it was a calculated risk.

During my tattoo, some frat boy came in with his blondie blonde girlfriend and started flipping through the books. My artist, Erik, asked if they needed any help. "What can I get for $30?" "A size 11 up your ass," Erik replied. Love it! Shameless plug: All of the artist at Triple X Tattoo do quality work, reasonably priced. Check them out if you're considering getting some ink. I couldn't be happier with mine.

Part II to come...