Strong Ale Festival
Greetings Ladies of America!
I know, I've heard it before. Never has your soul been pierced by such furiously passionate eyes. My friend here? He's actually gazing into your third eye; he seeketh thine inner truth. You see, we aim to please on a spiritual level as well. I know I don't have to tell you this, because I can tell by your impatient fidgeting and constant looking around for help that you're feeling our throbbing love vibe. The line starts to the left.
Oh, Silly me! Je m'excuse! That's actually the line for the Strong Ale Festival.
Where none of the over 60 beers (and cask conditioned ales) on tap are less than 8 percent alcohol.
.. Leading to scenes like this.
After being designated driver from Solana Beach, Corey became designated drinker extroardinaire, leading to his (upon arrival home) passing out first.
And we all know what happens to bitches who pass out first.
You stack a bunch of shit on 'em.
Left hand bravely flailing, Corey battles to regain control of the coverage of his corpus, but the furious stacking continues; strong ale, amply fueling his assailants, burning coarsely within.
No, not the kitten too! STOP! You'll KILL the man!
Abu Ghraib, you have found a peer in terror.
GREETINGS FROM HELL!
"I come, Graymalkin!"
Fair is foul and foul is fair..
Hover through the fog and filthy air.
I know, I've heard it before. Never has your soul been pierced by such furiously passionate eyes. My friend here? He's actually gazing into your third eye; he seeketh thine inner truth. You see, we aim to please on a spiritual level as well. I know I don't have to tell you this, because I can tell by your impatient fidgeting and constant looking around for help that you're feeling our throbbing love vibe. The line starts to the left.
Oh, Silly me! Je m'excuse! That's actually the line for the Strong Ale Festival.
Where none of the over 60 beers (and cask conditioned ales) on tap are less than 8 percent alcohol.
.. Leading to scenes like this.
After being designated driver from Solana Beach, Corey became designated drinker extroardinaire, leading to his (upon arrival home) passing out first.
And we all know what happens to bitches who pass out first.
You stack a bunch of shit on 'em.
Left hand bravely flailing, Corey battles to regain control of the coverage of his corpus, but the furious stacking continues; strong ale, amply fueling his assailants, burning coarsely within.
No, not the kitten too! STOP! You'll KILL the man!
Abu Ghraib, you have found a peer in terror.
GREETINGS FROM HELL!
"I come, Graymalkin!"
Fair is foul and foul is fair..
Hover through the fog and filthy air.
posted by David at 9:08 PM
2 Comments:
your pics are truly remarkable...but, which one is YOU?
haha! my "word verification" for comments is some 17th century derivative of the word "porn"! i swear! it said:
"poeryn"
I'm the good looking one!
Ha. Actually, the one at the top of this very post, wearing the blue chargers hat.
Wee Sleekit Poeryn Timrus Beastie?
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