Tradition is important to this jaded brogger. So without much fail, it’s kind of an institution down in Zombieland that we get a whole bunch of fireworks from South Carolina, and blow them up on the weekend of July 4th, since July 4th this year is on a fucking Monday. That being said, like for the last few years, we get a bunch of people down at our place, and shoot of fireworks with good food, drinks, snacks, and company, and it’s only a matter of time before it devolves into writing out goofy words with sparklers. But we were ready this time – there was a tripod for my camera.
Tag: booze
Photos: Annual Baltimore drinking and baseball but mostly drinking trip
A life with no traditions is a life without the little things to sometimes look forward to. For the last three years now, I have made it out to Baltimore at least once, in order to take advantage of the liberal beer availability with the company of various friends, just outsides of the confines of Camden Yards, which, despite my general disdain for the city of Baltimore, it actually is home to my favorite ballpark in Major League Baseball. Mostly thanks to Pickle’s.
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Photos: The Missouri state baseball trip
My poor, neglected brog. Has it really been ten whole days since I updated you last? Wow. Ten days certainly feels like a lot of time, but I suppose really isn’t. Either way, it isn’t due to just neglect, but the simple fact that I have indeed been busy. That being said, part of recent activities has been the one of the many baseball trips I go on through the summer, as Huzzard and I invaded the state of Missouri, to hit up both the ballparks in Kansas City, and St. Louis, as well as an indy park in neighboring Illinois.
Along the way of baseball bliss are tons of barbecue and other food restaurants sampled and judged, scary, murder-ville, blood-stained sheets roach motel room, and some shitty midwest no-bust, 4.5 deck deep casinos that vacuum money. And then we spend an extra day out in St. Louis to eat more food and do more touristy shit, but all-in-all, it was a pretty fantastic trip.
Obligatory
Jen brought me back a real La Parka mask from Mexico, just in time for Cinco de Mayo. So honestly, with my mask, Dos Equis, and WCW U.S. title, all I’m really missing for perfect symmetry for Cinco de Mayo, is a steel folding chair.
Found it
At a very remote gas station, relatively in the middle of nowhere, I found Dexter beer, Presidente. Although I would have preferred a six-pack, beggars can’t be choosers, and so I gladly took a 22-oz tall boy for my indulgence. Typically, this stuff isn’t really sold outside of Florida, although you never know where else one might stumble upon it. Ironically, this Dominican pilsner isn’t really that great, but because it’s simply known as the Dexter beer, do I still find it so appealing.
It wasn’t even that nice
One of the more amusing aspects of the downward spiral I’ve headed down, having become a very merry social drinker, is the occasional revelation of forgotten, as a result of excessive alcoholic consumption photographs on the phone. They’re sort of like fucked up Christmas gifts in a way, because there’s an element of mystery behind an unfamiliar thumbnail, followed by the inevitable equivalent of opening the wrapping by zooming in.
Looking at my discovery, I sort of remember the scenario, slurring fake dialogue from the horndog douchebag boyfriend in the picture, drinking himself into oblivion while thinking he’s being all slick, subtle, adventurous and exhibitionist all at the same time by repeatedly groping his girlfriend’s ass in public. Granted, I passed out later in the evening, leading me to forget all about this, but upon discovery, it’s becoming clear again. Gropey McGroperton’s hand all over his poor girl’s ass, her, probably too tipsy to bother to do anything about it, and me, the people I’m with, sniggering about it from afar. And from what I can remember, and evidenced by a poor, albeit 8.0MP camera phone shot, it’s not even that nice of an ass to be proud to be groping in public.
Photos: Grapevine’s Beertopia
This photo really does say it all – chicks pretending it’s actually St. Patrick’s Day, brahs photobombing, my brother, myself, and even my camera itself, unsettled, wobbly, and drunk, for the third annual Grapevine Beertopia, down in South Carolina.
Lots of different brews sampled and enjoyed, and without failed, pretty much everyone got hammered in the process. In other words, it was a lot of fun.