Wasn't That A Party?

Once again, a good time was had by all. Andrew and Mary, at their idyllic estate nestled on the picturesque banks of Duce Lake, have outdone themselves and each other in hosting a most relaxing and enjoymentful afternoon/evening soiree/bocce tournament/go-cart obstacle course. If I didn't get a chance to spend much face time with you, I apologize. But it was mostly probably almost for sure due to the surfeit of activities and consequently we musta have missed one another between the kayaking and the bounce house and the baby dwarf llama petting cage or betwixt the beer cooler and the bungee jumping into the flaming alligator pit and the Lord of the Flies looking tofu sculpture slowly spinning and drizzling three kinds of grease on the spit. For my grievous lack of protocol in terms of the niceties of hellos and how are yous and what's news and see you soons I do humbly apologize. I can only plead, and do so unashamedly and without reservation or purpose of evasion, that I was simply having too much fun fishing for crappie and riding the upside down standing up backward in the dark rollercoaster and pitching horseshoes to actually spend any time conversating, convivifying, or otherwise interactuating with any and/or all of y'all. But at least I was there. At least I made the effort. Unlike some other of my familial members who are gonna fall back on the tired old Canceled Flight Excuse. Right. Blame it on the airline. Just remember, they never said who canceled the flight. Could have been United, could have been Li'l Lotto.

In any case, congratulations to the guests of honor. It was a long, tough struggle. There was many a sleepless night during which the coming of this day was thrown into deep and serious shadows of doubt. Prayers were prayed. Palms were crossed. Goats were sacrificed. And finally, finaalllly, here we are. So congratulations to Erika, the budding Chippewa, and to whatever the Mumbyclan scion is using as a handle (not like he's actually posted anything here ever in his whole entire life), the budding whatever nickname the Rocky Mountain School of Mineral Extraction has. Good on you, the both of you.

Also Happy Father's Day to all the fathers out there. You know who you are. And an equally but separately Happy Father's Day to all the non-fathers out there, and mothers, sisters, brothers, nieces, nephews, cousins and so on. And Happy Solstice to all you people who pay attention to the Cosmos. Christian, Pagan, Druid, Secular Humanist, Homuncular Secularist, Goth, Visigoth, Vandal, Punk, or Hun. Does that cover everyone? Oh, and Denizens of CrazyTown, zip code 60666, aka City of Big Shoulders.

And as a final Addendum here is the latest Injury Report: On my poor twice broken, Frankenstein-looking-scarred little left pinkie I have added an exciting new companion gash that roughly parallels the first scar. It runs from the very base of the nail about three quarters of the way to the big or first knuckle. Did it with brute force, a short prybar, and the head of an 8d "Stormguard" small headed nail. Bits of skin flying this way, my hammer flying that way, blood somewhere between gushing and oozing, and the stupid little prybar trying to play all innocent. Bastard.