Hey Man Play Freebird!

First of all apologies to a few friends who came in town this past weekend and we did not get a chance to spend more time with them, hopefully our paths will cross again in the near future. Ahh the Super Bowl o Swine, the Palace of Pork, the Heavens of Hog (Ok, I will stop) or as we call it here in 38101 – BBQ fest! This year thanks to mother nature the park was in less than great shape as all of those flip flops, golf carts and stages left the park looking like a toxic form of Chocolate pudding. The rain did not let up at all and even with a delayed start it rained on Sunday’s load in day. By Wednesday thankfully the park had dried, the tents were up and the smokers were a smoking and friends and family night was on! My good friends and neighbors invited Ms Trumpet and I down that evening and we took advantage of it as we are not fans of large crowds, and being in a hot, music blaring, crowded tent is not my cup of tea. So for the remaining BBQ fest we stayed up in the hood and yet still are thankful to my boys at Porkosaurus for the invite and the food and hospitality.
That isn’t to say that there are a certain number of NYC firemen, Philly cops and a bald Englishman do not have this weekend circled on their calender and arrive in full force to drink our beer, eat our food and do un-speakables with our women. I must admit that the Bald Englishman spent his time unconscious at the Trumpet estate and was a perfect gentleman but for those who stayed over on Madewood, may God have mercy on your souls…

Now the weekend would not be complete without a “You can’t make this $hit up” story and sure enough I am here to tell the story as Joe Dirt and Skillet from parts unknown got a little too much jagered up and tried to drive home. Settle in as this is pretty good;

So we are on the front porch Friday night enjoying the weather and watching the various people in the hood walk about and notice that there is a late model white camaro with the bra and T-tops parked in front of the house. We didn’t think anything of it till poor Joe Dirt and Skillet stumble (and I mean stumble) up and try to get into said Camaro and drive home. After a conversation that had the following words “Look your skinny arse is not ready for pound me in the ass 201 Poplar” so why don’t you chill out on our porch and sober up? I mean I know that I can be a satirical prick at times but drinking in driving is not cool no mater who you are and I would not want that on my conscious. So thankfully Joe and Skillet respected my words and chilled out on the porch. Now I realize that there is an age difference between our new friends but these guys were just too easy to pick on so we had multiple conversations about Nascar, Deer hunting, the aforementioned Camaro, and the correct temperature to drink Jager. It was even funny when English Mike walked up and after a minute realized that we were taking the piss out of these boys and even joined in.
On that note, I am not longer an employee for Caterpillar but in the eyes of Joe Dirt and Skillet I am the worlds first Poet Laurette Novelist that owns a bar in his home. Oh and Joe felt that he bonded so much with me from Friday night that even parked in front of the house on Saturday night.
And so I give you the pictures;