Friday. The wife and I attend the 2008 Punk Rocks show at Red Rocks. The band lineup includes NOFX, Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Bouncing Souls, Street Dogs and young Denver skate punks Frontside Five (the Circle Jerks are a no-show). I soon recognize how old I am when I breeze through beer lines in mere minutes. I soon learn that new punk kids like smoking weed way more than old punk kids. NOFX, Mighty Mighty Bosstones and Bouncing Souls are still awesome. The Street Dogs are the opposites of awesome due to an hour and a half set and a fifteen minute dissertation on who the Ramones are and why they are so important to punk music. The only way to make their set less cliche would have be for the lead singer to not remove his shirt before his Ramones tribute song only to reveal a strategically planned Ramones shirt underneath. I conclude that six hour concerts and $7 beers are not nearly as fun in my thirties as they were in my twenties.

Saturday. Enter the annual neighborhood pool luau. We represent a respectable drinking crew and my next door neighbor's classic rock cover band melts faces. Our HOA is awesome because they allow (tolerate) my next door neighbor to wheel an ice-cold keg over to the pool to serve free beer. I soon realize that inflatable monkeys cannot sustain the belly-flop weight of a grown man from a diving board. Post-luau we torch a fire in the backyard pit and the wife provides ingredients for 'smores. Three people fall asleep in their chairs. I conclude that staying up late and drinking until intoxication two nights in a row is not nearly as fun in my thirties as it was in my twenties.

Sunday. My annual fantasy football draft goes down in the living room. Being as this is the fifteenth year of my league's existence and the same team owners have been in said league for the past six years, I expect the draft to take no more than two hours. Four hours and eight cases of beer later, the draft concludes after much humor, animosity and stupidity (this sums up my fantasy football league perfectly: upon the draft's conclusion one team owner loudly proclaimed, "I have to get going. I am late for marriage counseling.") Steak, potatoes and a gigantic apple pie from Costco are then decimated in less than twenty minutes. I conclude that sports gambling and NFL football viewing are not nearly as fun in my thirties as they were in my twenties.

Labels: chili dog, denver, drinking, drugs, glory days, kaye, l-i-v-i-n, music, sg crew, sports, the greens, weekend that was, wife

Friday. The wife and I attend a homemade rib bonanza at Team Muff's house where we drain shitty Mexican beer and play a rousing game of Trivial Pursuit 90s Edition. Proof that we have all turned into our parents: we began questioning the "correctness" of card answers and commenting on how staying up until 11:30 seemed "late."

Saturday. The wife and I attend a barbecue at DJs which we learn upon walking into his house is actually his birthday party. The wife gets angry at me for not knowing it was his birthday (even though it was on the Evite) and I explain to her that knowing when your guy friends birthday is is totally gay, and if I bought a gift for him we would have to move in together and begin re-decorating his house in the finest tapestries and velvets. I down a homemade chili beer that I regret four hours later, eat some swine and watch some UFC fighting. The wife and I decided to duck out early to get some sleep. When we arrive back at home, Team Hofkamp stops over with a twelve pack of shitty Mexican beer and cigarettes. We hang out in our backyard for an hour until my neighbor invites us over the fence to share in his raging backyard chimenea fire and more shitty Mexican beers and cigarettes. Four hours and eight beers later, we go to bed.

Sunday. The wife and I walk over to the movie multiplex to catch the new Indiana Jones joint. On the way, we stop to view the recently dedicated (but unfinished) Armed Forces Tribute Garden. We grab a burger and some Lumpy Dogs at the Rock Bottom Brewery before watching yet another abortion written by George Lucas. Why do you hate me George Lucas? Aliens and UFOs? Shia LaBeouf as some sort of 1950s hood with a Pompadour and switchblade swinging on vines with monkeys? Next thing you know, you will be telling me that the force is some kind of blood disorder. Oh. Right.

Monday. The wife, myself and 52,000 other people run the Bolder Boulder under the cover of cool mist and fog. My back (almost fully healed from the bulged disc) feels great and I finish in just over an hour. We retire to the homestead for a much needed shower and nap. Later we attend two more Memorial Day barbecues that feel like autumn barbecues due to the inclement weather. I play ping pong. I play foosball. I play 3-square with a beer in my hand. I go to sleep wishing I celebrated three day weekends more often.

Labels: chili dog, dj, drinking, family, food, gluttony, health, kaye, l-i-v-i-n, movies, pop culture, the greens, weekend that was, wife

Long time friends of the MB, Mark and Sara, ruined their lives over the weekend. It was a lovely affair that went down at Red Rocks Amphitheater and included Apache Wedding blessings, drinking and revelry, an R2D2 cake and a slide show of two fine-looking youngsters in love. I understand your reasoning for putting us at the Smashing Pumpkins table, Mark, but were we at least considered for The Clash table? I must know. Congratulations (again) from the wife and I. Enjoy England/Scotland/Ireland. Also, something for you to consider.

Labels: /mark, colorado, wedding, weekend that was, wife

Friday, June 29. My daunting three-day trial on the unemployment line ended when I was offered an Art Director position immediately after a two-hour interview. I accepted the offer and start this Friday. The people seem great and of the non-douchebag variety, the pay is solid and my skill set should grow exponentially. That night our neighbors extended an impromptu invite "for a drink" over the fence. We ended up staying for six hours, helped drink their cooler dry, gorged ourselves on barbecue spare ribs and watched their 13-year-old daughter's recent European vacation slides.

Saturday, June 30. With the wives at a baby shower talking about their uteruses, I stuffed an amazing basket of fish and chips down my cake chute and drained numerous Coors Light pitchers at Clancys with CH, Tyler and Fateh. Aside from the poor patio location and a bad wait staff that included a red-haired meth skank that kept forgetting our orders and a chubby blond girl with a giant snake tattoo, good times were had by all. That night we ate a late sushi dinner and took in 1408 with Team Sutton. It was refreshing to watch a movie in a theater since we have not done so since the Korean War.

Sunday, July 1. The wife and I celebrated our one-year anniversary. We walked around our deserted wedding venue in the 100-degree heat sipping on blended coffee drinks, ate heaping plates of steamed mussels and took in back-to-back movies thanks to my criminal wife who snuck me into Ratatouille in the confusion of the exiting Rise Of The Silver Surfer crowd. It was refreshing to watch movies in a theater since we have not done so since Saturday, June 30, 2007.

Labels: career, drinking, sg crew, unemployment, weekend that was, wife

The wife and I threw a housewarming party on Saturday night, inviting our friends and family over to destroy all the hard work we put into the place over the past few months. Some highlights:

• Japanese Whiskey is a great housewarming gift and a fun treat for Grandma.
• My four-year-old nephew held court over the fire of a citronella candle waxing philosophical to numerous adults on Star Wars, baseball, war and gladiators.
• Johnny Ballgame rolled up in a new truck named "The Licorice Whip." New is a relative term as said truck is an early 80s Chevy Half-Ton with visible fire damage and more miles on it than 50-year-old stripper. Jake reported that it died twice during the convenience store cigarette run. The convenience store is a quarter mile from the house.
• My neighbor Kevin (who I have talked to three times) walked into the house grabbed a cup from our kitchen and poured himself a keg beer. He than greeted us and proceeded to hang out for the next six hours.
• A pack of youngsters found kitty's second confirmed kill in our backyard. That brings the body count to two in less than one week.
  
• Most decadent housewarming gift: 80+ ounces of Grey Goose vodka.
• Number of partygoers that threatened to Top Shelf one of the bathrooms: 2.
• Number of partygoers that requested Journey's Greatest Hits for a musical selection: 7.
• Number of partygoers that had to be called a cab at 3 AM due to someone "taking their keys": 2.
• Number of partygoers that drank the bottle of rum they brought as a housewarming gift: 2.
• Approximate time on Sunday that my hangover wore off and I was able to able to stand up without getting lightheaded: 4 PM.

Labels: drinking, kitty, the greens, tomfoolery, weekend that was, wife

It may be Wednesday but I just now recovered from this past weekend. After treating my liver to a host of pollutants for three straight days, my body was pleased to remind me that it is not 21 years old anymore. On Friday, I went to the Great American Beer Festival with the usual cast of characters, minus one future brother-in-law who came down with sore ovaries stayed home (click here for some hot Flickr action). On Saturday, I went bar hopping with a large group of rowdy and intoxicated family members to celebrate my cousin's impending nuptials. On Sunday, I attended the System of a Down concert at Pepsi Center with my future brother-in-law (who miraculously recovered from his sore ovaries) and friends, where two cases of beer and a can of Skoal Bandits were killed and an annoying fat guy in glasses who quoted Plato was almost killed.

Labels: bro-in-law, denver, drinking, hangover, music, weekend that was

Congratulations to Jake and Heather who exchanged nuptials over the weekend. I was bestowed the honor of best man and spent the weekend drinking with Bostonians (hearing "Fucking Jeetah" and "This yeah the Sawks are gonna win it," on numerous occasions), viewing schizophrenic artwork, discussing the many uses for Marshmallow Fluff and watching Neal dance like a homosexual club kid full of horse tranquilizers to "Mambo Number 5." Click here for some hot Flickr action.

Labels: jake, wedding, weekend that was

A weekend of heavy drinking caused me a Sunday morning hangover that could rival a Kennedys (minus a sex assault and driving a bitch into a lake). The recap:

Friday. I attend the Great American Beer Festival at the Denver Convention Center. The Great American Beer Fest works as such: assorted beer brewers from all over the United States set up keg stations in a large convention hall. Attendees are given an empty one-ounce glass upon entry. Assorted brewers pour beer into the one-ounce glasses. Attendees shoot glasses of beer. This process is repeated for four hours. Our group becomes intoxicated quickly. I run into two sisters I went to high school with who are both wearing cowboy hats and have the following exchange:

"Courtney, how is everything going?"
"Good, Matt."
"How is your sister doing?"
"Ask her. She is standing right next to me."

The evening degenerates into immature drunkenness. A member of our group throws a road cone into a public parking lot for no apparent reason and hits a car. A large man in a jumpsuit passing by proclaims, "Hey man, that ain't cool" to which the cone thrower replies, "Keep on walking, Devo." The cone thrower later orders a $20 sampler platter at Old Chicagos, eats most of it and then smears the remainder of it onto the gentleman next to him. The evening concludes with our heavily intoxicated group standing outside of Old Chicagos waiting for our ride where a Ford Explorer with twenty two inch rims is urinated on, a foreign cab driver is yelled at for not using his mirrors and a biker riding down the sidewalk is kicked and told to buy a handlebar bell to alert pedestrians that he is coming through. The biker proceeds to ring his handlebar bell when he reaches the end of the block.

Saturday. Jake's bachelor party starts off at a Westminster dive bar called On The Rox. A meth addict shooting pool gives Jake marital advice. We consume $5 pitchers of beer and watered down whiskey. Our group becomes intoxicated quickly. Unbeknownst to us it is Karaoke night. Jake attempts to sing "What's Going On" by Marvin Gaye, but ends up talking through most of the song as our group heckles him unmerciful. We proceed to the Brunswick Zone where we bowl three games, smoke cheap cigars and drink numerous buckets of Coronas. After our games, we retire to the bowling alley lounge where unbeknownst to us it is Karaoke night. The evening concludes with a drunk hairbag singing Karaoke to Slayer's "Seasons in the Abyss," Jake's fiance cleaning puke out of her car, drinking a nightcap poured by a fat bartender in a sports bra with a large tattoo on her breast and me calling an Asian coworker "Spanish" while I dominate him in air hockey.

Labels: denver, drinking, jake, l-i-v-i-n, pop culture, tomfoolery, weekend that was

My weekend was filled with disturbing programming flashing across the television. On Friday night Monica brought over her fella and some Chinese food over and we all watched Monster. I thought Charlize Theron engaging in lesbianism would soften the disturbing nature of the film (even if said lesbianism was with Christina Ricci who is hot if you are into elf sluts with big foreheads) but I was dead wrong. I have three words for you: tire iron sodomy. (I was guilty of this hot-chick-doing-an-uncharacteristic-sex-act fallacy during Requiem For A Dream, too. I heard Jennifer Connelly took a double ended dildo up the chute and that sounded like something I would enjoy watching. First, I had to endure a smack addict's arm amputation (his limb became black and gangrenous due to his love of the vein candy) and an old woman being committed to a mental health facility for her eating disorder and addiction to diet pills. When the scene finally arrived, it was more disturbing than hot).

Saturday morning I made myself a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios and turned on the Olympics in the hopes of catching some Women's Beach Volleyball (Holly McPeak. Yummy). Instead I get the a broadcast of the Gymnastics Trampoline. The competition goes as such: an athlete (use the term athlete loosely) does tricks on a trampoline for an Olympic medal. We need an international competition forum for this? There was a kid named Jimmy in my neighborhood who would have dominated this event in the early eighties. That fucking kid was a wild man on the trampoline. His signature move was jumping off the roof and going into a double flip. I was waiting for a tandem Gymnastics Trampoline event when two competitors had a seat war or played a game of crack the egg. You know this event is not taken seriously when commentators had this exchange:

Announcer #1: Oh! That miscue on the back flip there is going to cost him.
Announcer #2: Yes. What kind of experience do you have with this event?
Announcer #1: Well, I have been jumping on trampolines since I was eight years old.

Labels: a-town, childhood, lesbians, mons, movies, pop culture, sports, weekend that was, wife

My weekend was quiet and uneventful. I played some softball, drank some beer, sold 1970s style furniture at a garage sale, did some freelance web design and watched a crazy bastard demolish the town of Granby, Colorado with a customized bulldozer.

Labels: crazy, drinking, weekend that was

Friday. It is my birthday so I take the day off. I wake up, make some scrambled eggs and bacon and watch Clash of the Titans on the digital cable. My sort of lady and I play nine holes of golf. My sort of lady gives me clothes and candles that smell like pumpkin musk. We crack a Michelob Ultra and toast to my 28th year. After killing three Michelob Ultras each, My sort of lady and I realize that Michelob Ultras go down very smooth. My sort of lady departs to get ready for birthday festivities at Old Chicago. Kaye, Aaron and Johnny Ballgame stop by to check out the town home improvements. We leave for the pub where I drink the night away with family and friends, consuming only two shots (thanks to Monica and an old high school friend Rachel). For the first time in three years of birthday celebrations, I do not wind up face down in some skeezy parking lot in downtown Denver dry heaving on a tree.

Saturday. My sort of lady and I drive to Redstone (20 miles outside of Glenwood Springs) to attend the wedding of a childhood friend she has not talked to in six months. I soon find out why my sort of lady does not talk to aforementioned friend (the term bourgeois princess comes to mind.) Together, we know a total of three people at the wedding. We sit at our table and drink ourselves half blind. I begin to spin yarns to the gullible and uppity wedding guests. My best story begins when someone at the table asks me, "How long have you and your wife been together?" I reply "Six long years," and then proceed to tell them how we met on the frozen sea ice of Antarctica where we were both studying botany and the psychoactive effects of blue-green algae on the human brain. I am sure to include my harrowing smack addiction and how my wife supported me through the dark times when I brought home filthy drug addicts to fuck and spike the vein with in our basement. I conclude the story with, "I am going to get a drink, anybody want one?" (I told you I am good at weddings.) My sort of lady and I dance. On the drive back to Denver, my sort of lady falls asleep somewhere near Glenwood Springs. She wakes up when I nudge her pulling into our town home complex. She stretches and proclaims, "That drive was so short." I drove three hours in solitude.

Sunday. My sort of lady and I go for an early morning run as a pre-emptive strike against the assault our digestive tracts will face during the birthday celebration at my parents house. We arrive at my folks shortly after one in the afternoon and are presented with heaping plates of food. On the menu is stuffed shells (shell pasta filled with ricotta cheese and covered in homemade spaghetti sauce) and peach pie. My sisters get me candles that smell like vanilla musk, a candle holder (I begin to think the women in my life called forth a candle conspiracy for my 28th year) and a gift certificate to Old Navy. My parents float me duckets and two books: Ortho's Home Improvement Encyclopedia and Techniques of the Great Masters of Art. We then head back to my sort of lady's house and I fix her screen door and hang some mirrors on her walls. I play in a late hockey game and receive my first ever game misconduct penalty (Mark recounts the event here). Much like Claude Lemieux after boarding Kris Draper in 1996 and destroying his face, I stand by the hit.

Labels: /mark, birthday, chili dog, colorado, drinking, hockey, johnny ballgame, kaye, mons, the fairways, weekend that was, wife

Friday. I work until three in the afternoon until I notice that myself, Neal and Brandon seem to be the only people left in the office. I give myself the rest of the day off. At home, I order Chinese food, drain four Newcastles and paint the fucking walls. My sort of lady calls me on her way home from the final Bronco Pre-Season game. Talk gets serious.* We hang out anyway, agreeing to avoid relationship conversation for the evening.

Saturday. My sort of lady wakes up early because she has stuff to do. I leave her house and walk home and we agree to meet up later as I need her to help me purchase new bedding and towels. She is the shopping queen and I hate shopping (read: I am willing to pay $80 for a set of sheets at one store as opposed to shopping at many stores and finding the same sheets for $40.) I paint the fucking walls. In between painting the fucking walls, my sort of lady takes me to numerous linens and bedding stores. I purchase new linens and bedding. My sort of lady and I head downtown to meet friends for birthday drinks. We consume numerous whiskeys, vodka tonics and eat $9 steaks. The birthday girl informs us she wants to go to the Diamond Cabaret. We comply with her request where my sort of lady and I consume many beers and I smoke a $10 cigar that tastes like filthy assholes. We stuff dollar bills into stripper's panties.

Sunday. My sort of lady wakes up early again. After she leaves and I spend twenty minutes staring out my bedroom window at the rain as I told the boys I play hockey with that I would meet them for practice at an outdoor rink at nine o'clock. I roll over and go back to bed. My brother-in-law picks me up and we proceed to our fantasy football draft. I have been competing in the same fantasy football league for ten years. Every year, we sit in the same basement, tell the same jokes, drink assorted Coors products and draft fourth string NFL players thinking we got a "sleeper." I get home and paint the fucking walls half drunk.

Monday. I sleep in. I work out. I buy groceries. I eat a pork chop for dinner. My sort of lady and I rent a movie. Talk gets serious* again. We laugh at ourselves and go to bed.

* My sort of lady and I are currently "hanging out." The relationship dynamic has progressed into something neither one of us expected. I like my sort of lady. My sort of lady likes me. I am interested in pursuing things further. Taking risks, especially when it comes to matters of the heart, is something I am willing to do. I figure it is best to try it and realize it does not work, then not try it at all. Relationship situations are like combat; you either get out of your foxhole alive and return home the conquering hero grateful for every day thereafter or you wind up getting shredded by machine gun bullets, laying on a field of battle with your intestines in your hands being comforted by a fat soldier named Murph telling him things like "I am so cold" and "I wanna go home now" before you die. Thankfully, my sort of lady does not use war analogies like me to describe her feelings.

Labels: bro-in-law, denver, drinking, feelings, hockey, l-i-v-i-n, sg crew, sports, strippers, weekend that was, wife

Friday. Work late to complete a corporate Flash presentation that nobody will pay attention to. After work, I play in a coed softball game where my team wins 26-4 and the opposing team's third baseman catches a ground ball with her face and breaks her nose. Immediately following the game a torrential downpour ensues and I sprint to my car leaving my glove on the field. I roll to Tyler's house and play College Football with the Slushy Gutter Crew. At one point in the evening Tyler pours me either a glass of bourbon, scotch, or whiskey. I drink it and proceed to kick his ass with Virginia Tech 30-14. On the way home I realize that I left my mitt on the softball field.

Saturday. I attend my company picnic and run the corporate Flash presentation I put in long hours over. Surprisingly, people pay attention, laugh and tell me good job. After the presentation the picnic continues at a nearby park with a luau theme and a pig roasting. I eat heaping platefuls of swine and mingle with coworkers. Jake, Gay Joe and I make fun of some pasty kid trying to play football. We call him "Mary" and giggle like the dickheads we are. Joe tells us about his homosexual encounters the previous evening. Hula dancers many years past their prime shake their asses for our amusement. I volunteer to dance with them, throwing my inhibitions into the wind like Kevin Bacon in Footloose. I perform a dance with pom-poms and hip gyrations. I win the grand prize in the company raffle (a $200 gift certificate to the Flagstaff House). After the picnic, I attend a lesbian wedding with Monica, Kaye, Aaron, Nels and Kerry. We quickly become the obnoxious drunk table at the reception. A plant is passed around and the recipient of said plant gives a toast. A diverse blend of people wishes the couple well including a militant lesbian with an attitude problem and a sexual predator with disheveled hair holding a kid that liked to hit people in the face. I share my toast with the happy couple, lifting my glass and saying, "Here's to eating pussy." They laugh hysterically. I love the lesbians and wish them the best. We roll to Monica's crib for a nightcap. I discover Kaye does not like playing drinking games with me. Monica informs me she picked up my softball glove up after our game. This makes me happy.

Sunday. I wake up at noon with a screaming hangover. I pour a glass of water and take ibuprofen. I watch Panic Room on digital cable. I drink a glass of water. I make a trip to Home Depot to buy some sandpaper and steel wool. I drink a glass of water. I strip paint for four hours. I drink three glasses of water. My Mom calls and invites me to dinner. I drink a glass of water. I drive to my parents house and eat spaghetti and garlic bread for dinner. We discuss home improvement. I go home to play a game of College Football. Colorado State beats Wyoming 21-3. Nels picks me up for our hockey game. I tally a hat trick and an assist. I drink seven glasses of water. Mark throws a shoe at Nels's face. I come home and take a shower. I go to sleep. If anyone asks me what I did this weekend, I will say, "Nothing."

Labels: /mark, chili dog, colorado, data slaughterhouse, diy, drinking, gay joe, geekery, hockey, jake, kaye, l-i-v-i-n, lesbians, mons, nels, sg crew, sports, tyler, wedding, weekend that was

My Fourth of July holiday was spent drinking Mexican beer, smoking Puerto Rican vanilla-soaked cigars, watching fireworks that were made in China explode in the night sky and eating the German barbecue treat bratwurst. God bless America.

Labels: drinking, summer, weekend that was

Friday. She Who Will Not Be Named and I ordered some pizza and played Dynasty Warriors 4 until the wee hours of the morning.

Saturday. I watch the Colorado Avalanche beat the Minnesota Wild and played badminton in the park (note to cousin Jenny in Minnesota: after the Avs beat your boys like rented mules, I expect my free case of Pete's Wicked Ale and bottle of Bushmills to be delivered in person).

Sunday. I played in a tiring, demanding hockey game (we only had six skaters) and upon Jake's recommendation, watched The Salton Sea. It was an excellent film, and its good to see Val Kilmer back in his I am a bad ass and can play in diverse roles like Jim Morrison and Doc Holliday form as opposed to his I am just doing this for the money by starring in the Saint and Red Planet form.

Labels: colorado, drinking, geekery, hockey, jake, movies, pop culture, she who, weekend that was

This weekend I played hours of GTA Vice City, got drunk wearing a super Afro wig to a Halloween party and participated in my semi-final playoff hockey game against the Husson Boys, Michael and Mark. Our team battled hard, but due to some late penalties, we came up short of the victory. Micahel and I used to play alongside each other during the early days of the Slashing Hyena Hockey Club. The Hyenas are currently embroiled in internal strife as four players are leaving to test the free agent market. I was recruited once again by the organization to play, but I am under contract with my new club for several more seasons.

Labels: /mark, drinking, geekery, halloween, hockey, weekend that was

I spent the weekend carving pumpkins and conquering Hitman 2: Silent Assassin. For the majority of the game, I used stealth to sneak up on a motherfucker and blast their head to smithereens with a silenced 9mm pistol. During the final mission I applied a different approach, equipped myself with an M60 machine gun and decimated a plethora of enemies in a satisfying orgy of blood, gore and death. I now wait in anticipation for Grand Theft Auto Vice City to be delivered to me later this week.

On a related note, some Wal-Mart stores are yanking violent video games off of their shelves. It is a solid moral decision from a company that rapes Southeast Asia for slave labor, provides their employees unlivable wages and miserable benefits and uses predatory pricing to destroy small business owners.

Labels: death, geekery, killing, pop culture, weekend that was

After this past weekend I know what Keith Richard's liver feels like. I and ten other hell-bent drunks braved the wilds of North Federal Boulevard and Steamboat Springs for a bachelor party weekend that sent Nels off to the marriage gallows in grand drunken fashion. I will spare you the details of the weekend as they are mostly laborious accounts of steak dinners, inebriated heroics and vulgar slurs of grandiose proportions directed at one party-goers Denver Bronco Cheerleader sister. The entire bachelor party shared their sexual fantasies surrounding said sister during the entire weekend (mostly after the aforementioned party-goer threatened to inflict physical harm). My favorite fantasy included Shannon Elizabeth, a sponge and a bathtub filled with hot fudge. It is amazing what three motivated drunk people can accomplish on Howelsen Hill with a crude sledding device. Me being one of said drunk people (and just in case someone in Steamboat Springs law enforcement or my mother is reading this) all I will say about the incident is this: that was some fun shit.

Labels: colorado, drinking, nels, pop culture, wedding, weekend that was