Furshunslinger wombat

Shramish. Haargh. Dirigible?

This is the best approximation of my speech patterns right this second, due to the after-effects of the Second Annual Long Beach Weekend in Port Aransas.

SOMEONE - either The Man, Bookhart, Pod, Clark, or Milena - convinced me to have WAAAAY too much to drink, for THREE NIGHTS STRAIGHT. And, I tell you, they OUGHT TO BE ASHAMED of themselves.

The Reader's Digest summary:

• In a happy coincidence, the Perseid meteors were peaking this weekend. They were incredible over the ocean, like roman candles, streaking from one end of the sky to the other.
  
• There were board games.
• And pitchers of pina coladas.
• And margaritas.
  
• And a whole motherfucking lot of beer and wine.
• We caught crabs.
• The good kind. (I'm speaking for myself only, of course.)
  
• Six kids ran around like shrieking little heathens, and it was OK.
• My friends react overly harshly when I force them to sing along to "Sister Christian."
• I didn't find my fucking camera until 1:30 A.M. last night, when God knows the last thing in the world that any of us wanted was to have our picture taken in the godawful state we were in.
• I wasn't dizzy at all, until the drive home today, and there were probably 10 good reasons for that besides nystagmus.

OK, that was exhausting. I have to go to bed now.