Next Station: Hell

Our small troupe of drunken yabs committed beer consumption enthusiasts has been at it now since November.  We’ve grown in size, and have gained an odd assortment of delightfully silly people along the way… drawn in by our raunchy stupidity commitment to beer drinking excellence.  Out last night for our weekly adventure, the original four had grown to ten. 

A young newbie to our group, who has already achieved Beer Excellence – earning the coveted Pub jacket – was across the table from Pickles* and me.  We were learning from the adventures of the newbie, and strategizing our necessary beer-fest road trip – which we must complete to achieve Beer Excellence, and score those fucking elusive jackets!

Sorting through our calendars, we settled on a Sunday in May as the day to make the daylong beer run.  This requires strategies for a full day out of town, determining designated drivers and making sure those with small children can secure the necessary kitchen pass. 

i asked Pickles if that Sunday would work with her schedule.   “But that’s The Lord’s Day!” she exclaimed.

The table silenced.  All eyes turned toward Pickles.  You see, we are not known for our devotion to church-going… or the religious arts…  In fact, we are skilled practitioners of the art of recreational blasphemy**.

After an elephantically pregnant pause, she and i burst out with insane belly laughs!  High fives were exchanged, the rest of the table relaxed, and went back to discussions of community theater hook-ups, walking through “hobo rape territory” and adventures with human excrement. 

But the look on the face of the young newbie?  Worth a thousand pints…

See you in Hell!  I'll be at the bar...

See you in Hell! I'll be at the bar...

* No.  Not even i am strange enough to bring my dog drinking.  This is one of the original four, so nicknamed because of her unfortunate run-in with a stomache virus after consuming a plate of deep fried pickles.  She has stated that of all the things to you should not hoark up when in the midst of illness, deep fried pickles is at the top of the list.  Right above “your own intestines”.

** By the way… if you Google “recreational blasphemy”, guess who pops up as the first entry?

19 thoughts on “Next Station: Hell

  1. what are the young ‘uns for if not to torment mercilessly? i consider a duty to mess with their little, confused minds. i applaud your excellence in the task. after all, if you’re going to do something…

  2. deep friend pickles, beer battered preferably and Guinness are excellent together, especially with a little honey mustard… now some sentences that caught my eye… our commitment to beer drinking excellence, that is a motto to live by, of course the other thing that caught my eye was “hobo rape territory” and adventures in human excrement, which might need to be explained further Ms. Daisyfae.

  3. I don’t understand why this is funny…
    … … …

    Naw!!! Totally is. We only started calling it the Lord’s Day in the first place to cut down the lines at Waffle House from 9-11 am. Good luck getting your jackets, and…um…you might want to have the car looked at before you go…I’m just saying.

  4. renalfailure – you are world class. second to none. kyknoord gives you a run, but he sometimes wanders off into side lobes on engineering, human stupidity, etc…

    manual – your laughter makes me happy!

    gnukid – i’ve tormented my children through 2 decades. hers are young. they’re in for quite a ride… and we practice on fresh meat in the bars. no. um… well. guess that didn’t come out right….

    stephanie – Ding!Ding!Ding! We have a WINNER! Yes, it was a Jeebus reference… Parting gifts to be delivered at a future date….

    alex – all my best friends will be there. hot times ahead!

    jimmy – bottle in each hand? great, but will you be able to carry the donuts? 😉

    nursemyra – they’re not half as bad as they sound. at least on the way in…

    kyknoord – you are wise, master. so wise that you found an accidental one…

    kono – both the “hobo rape territory” and “adventures in human excrement” stories may be worthy of individual posts. if i can ever wrap my mind about both of the discussions…

    jesus – you’re late. and enough with that “omniscient” shit. that’s you doing that “Daddy Worship” stuff again… Waffle House, next Sunday? Better make it 10:00 – expect nasty pub crawlin’ action on Saturday…

  5. Maybe in hell I’ll be able to drink again. In which case, make it a nice Lambrusco, a margarita or two, and a Pina Colada. For starters. With an order of deep fried…ice cream.

  6. silverstar – i can hook you up! i’m thinking you’d like the freshly made mojito! learned how to make those from a gen-u-ine cuban woman! they rock… and the white rum will guarantee that you cook up nicely!

    rassles – mine doesn’t have any extra brain cells. if he started lapping up spilled beer? it’d be all over but the twitching…

    dave – Ms. Pickles is moving to Germany at the end of the summer. The Beer Bingo Brigade may, in fact, make a trip across the pond!

  7. I’ve been looking for a new hobby for some time… a long time thing that I can carry on with even when I retire… something I can do with a passion and be really good at… “recreational blasphemy”, hehehe. Brilliant!

    I’ll join JB at the gate

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