Please note; this is not a story. One needs brain cells to write a story. I’m sure I could make something up, but once again, brain cells are integral to this process. We did get photos, though. I can show you lots of photos…
It was Sunday and the church was in session. There was no state recognized minister, holy transcripts or alter boy (dammit), just a heap of townsfolk with hunger in their eyes, looking to have their souls fulfilled with a religious food experience. This Sunday the church would be our backyard, the steeple would be the blue skies above and the sermon would be delivered in the international tongue of great food, great people and great times.
The time was well overdue for a gathering at our place. We sorted it just like we would sort the average Sunday gathering at our place, but then we got our pocket calculators out and multiplied that shit by ten, just to keep it proper real. We used social media to coax a large group of friends into our backyard under the guise they would be entertained by small carnival folk wearing crotchless monkey suits, and also the promise of a cracking lunch. Needless to say, many among the group were sorely disappointed when they arrived and there was nary a monkey suit wearing carnie in sight, but they were in the yard now… and we had locked the gates… so they had no choice but to eat and to drink to attempt to extinguish the flame of disappointment that was burning deep inside them due to the absence of carnival style entertainment.
Murmurings throughout the group later suggested that the food may have redeemed our deceitful actions. I was a little tipsy by that stage so it didn’t really bother me either way.
We drank out way far into the night… memories were stolen by the treacherous minions of beer and scotch… there’s always the photos though. Bless this modern age and it’s 18-things-in-1 phones (until you get drunk and lose your multi tasking phone, that is. Then it’s cursing all the way).
Now, as I am still feeling a little sleep and brain cell deficient, I am going to take myself off to bed, where I shall sleep until my name is changed to Rip Van Grazza.