Brats and BM’s.
So, yeah, it has been a while since I updated this blog. Boo hoo. Anyway….
My good friend, and bro-in-law, was in town for 4 days at the end of April. We had grand plans for the long weekend, and followed through on most of them. This will be the tale of the tail of that weekend, Monday.
“Look at the size of those bratwursts!”, said Derek. That was all it took to seal the deal for me. My mind started to inventory the refrigerator for condiments: tsatziki, horseradish mustard, ketchup, tomatoes, onions, hummus. I asked for 6, and the total weight was 2.5 lbs. Oh. My. God.
This day had started out slowly. We had plans to paddle the Kettle River in Eastern Minnesota. The Kettle has a few serious whitewater stretches, and we were going to hit the baddest stretch. Derek was going to meet Jake and I halfway, and we were going to jam on the water, eat lunch, and drink a few beers.
Instead, we decided to stay at my house, drink Spotted Cow, eat grilled Lamb Souvlaki with homemade pita, and kayak the lake across the road from my house. I think we made the right decision.
Back to the bratwurst. I don’t own a frisbee, so we called around to find one. 15 minutes away, two stores carried frisbees, so we hit the road in Jake’s rental. After picking out a 180 gram frisbee, I offered to buy the boys a bloody mary. Good idea. The cute barista working that day at the Pour House made a mean Bloody, with a beer chaser. Mmm. It was only the second Bloody Mary I have ever ordered. In my life. Total. After the BM, Jake decided to pick up steaks for dinner with his dad later in the evening, and that is when Derek spotted the brats. Which we ate. With Tzatziki. Yum.
“After the BM” . . . (hee-hee).
You call this a post? Sheesh. I’m sickened. I’m disgusted. 4 days of debauchery and this is it? I’m sitting out here in Washington checking this blog for the latest post every 15 minutes for 10 days straight, and you write a paragraph about Bloody Marys. And the bartender wasn’t that hot, as I recall. Next time I see you I’m going to bring the pain. I hate you, and I hate your ass face!!!
Heh heh. BM’s.
No one ever gets mean on these blogs, it’s kind of funny.
Meh.
I guess I should have stated it was post ONE, of many involving that weekend. Cripes. I started to put it all together and it was just too involved.
Do get bent, Jake.
Heh heh.
“Do get bent.”? What are you, British? I say, old chap, would mind terribly getting bent?
Tosser.
Prat.
Sod off, bloody wanker.
Prig.
Jake, you rock.
c-dubya