So I haven’t posted for a while. Sorry.
There have been two major developments of this Yuletide: Name That Thing and the farting preacher. Name That Thing requires some explanation. It’s a bar game invented by the unassuming, unpredictable, and always brilliant D-Moore. One boozer thinks of a thing and the other boozers get one shot to name that thing—no hints, no hot/cold, no pantomime, nothing. Then the boozer who initially thought of the thing awards the victory to the boozer who came closest to naming the original thing. Typically, this call is made by a free association criteria specific to the original namer of the thing. Say I name a thing, for instance: Carl Yastrzemski. Friend one says Deep Blue, friend two says pot holes, and friend three says the city of Manchester, NH. Obviously, I would award victory to the boozer who said city of Manchester because I once new a girl from there whose name was … and three of my friends slept with her over a period of several years. They awarded her the “Triple Crown” for her bedroom feat and started to call her Yaz. Yaz is the last baseball player to win a Triple Crown. The boozer who said Manchester thinks of the next thing and the entire process starts over.
Also I’ve taken the Farting Preacher to Worcester. The farting preacher is a preacher who farts. My mom said it was the funniest thing she’d seen in years.
