Time For The Maine Trip

It’s an annual tradition, my family gets together with the Violas up in Maine, which was where I was born.  We go to this pimp house on a pimp lake and have a pimping good time.  The beauty of it is that every year has it’s own stories.  There are rarely two that aren’t distinctly different.  We’re leaving in about an hour and I need to pack but first I have to run to the store and buy gatorade and a red bull to put in my camel bak along with a liter of rum.  That ought to get the weekend started on the right note, plus I need to be drunk so that I can create a level playing field for Polish Horse Shoes.  If I’m not drunk there will be just too much rape and the cops may show up and spoil all the fun.  Oh wait my brother in law is a cop and he’s real fun, maybe we’ll just have a big gay cop bash and everyone can grow moustaches and start batting like the yankees after a stern lecture from Hanky Panky Steinbrenner.

And thats my cue for a drink, I’ll be back on Sunday with a thorough description of the weekend accompanied by exclusive pictures of course.


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