OPEN BAR: 50 Shades of Chronic Liver Disease

[The Good Reverend Roger]

The most comments I ever had on a facebook post before is 15.  I post a Bundy ranch thing and I have 33.

Some people have lost their bloody minds about that mess.

Ain't it awesome?

[The Good Reverend Roger]

"Why would you move back to Maine?", they asked. "Isn't it just boring as all fuck out there?"

Well, I'm not sure I have a good answer for that question so maybe they should ask the guy who didn't get flat-out charged by a 6 point buck last night while wandering semi-lost through the woods on a head full of some obscure synthetic hallucinogen.

Because this is totally subjective and all, but I don't think that was particularly boring.

Ain't it awesome?

Of course, I'd just try to brain the deer with a whiskey bottle and eat it.  Wouldn't end well.

[Ben Shapiro]

Wedding tonight, followed by Easter celebration tomorrow. Mexican style! See you guys next week!

Congratulations! I wish I was there to eat all your delicious wedding food!

The wedding was for my neighbor's parents. 50 FUCKING YEARS!!! So I'm assuming their at least 70 years old.

Now we wait and prepare for Jesus to come back, and whip the shit of the bankers here in America.

Wife: "God I hate white weddings you either get chicken breasts stuffed with bacon, or beef stroganoff. The music is either: "The Macarena", "Cha Cha Slide", or "White Snake/Poison" all night long.

Then I headed out to go see binks and charge see her mom celebrate her anniversary at a Karaoke bar.
I always forget little binks is our jazz singer, and I'm officially convinced now to only do Elvis covers.

[ñͤͣ̄ͦ̌̑͗͊͛͂͗ ̸̨̨̣̺̼̣̜͙͈͕̮̊̈́̈͂͛̽͊ͭ̓͆ͅé ̰̓̓́ͯ́́͞]

"Why would you move back to Maine?", they asked. "Isn't it just boring as all fuck out there?"

Well, I'm not sure I have a good answer for that question so maybe they should ask the guy who didn't get flat-out charged by a 6 point buck last night while wandering semi-lost through the woods on a head full of some obscure synthetic hallucinogen.

Because this is totally subjective and all, but I don't think that was particularly boring.

[Suu]

I finally saw what New Hampshire calls a beach today.

I'm fucking frightened. I want to move back to Rhode Island, now. The majority of them are not sand, they're pebbles and chunks of granite building a breakwater to stop Nor'easters from ruining the pretty summer houses...with spiders! SPIDERS ON THE BEACH. RUNNING ALL AROUND THE PEBBLES FROM THE WATER AND THE PEOPLE. WHAT THE FUCK?

Hampton Beach, NH's "resort town," is transplanted right from the Jersey Shore circa 1962. The beach is sandy and expansive, which is nice, but with the 3000 shandy motels, arcades, lobster shacks and kitschy stores, I can't see myself easily finding a piece of sand to brown my Vitamin D deficient ass in 2 months time. I found one local beach that I may go to not far from home, but it cost $15 to even ride my bike there, because this state is the goddamn libertarian paradise you've always wanted...with beach spiders.

[Ben Shapiro]

I finally saw what New Hampshire calls a beach today.

I'm fucking frightened. I want to move back to Rhode Island, now. The majority of them are not sand, they're pebbles and chunks of granite building a breakwater to stop Nor'easters from ruining the pretty summer houses...with spiders! SPIDERS ON THE BEACH. RUNNING ALL AROUND THE PEBBLES FROM THE WATER AND THE PEOPLE. WHAT THE FUCK?

Hampton Beach, NH's "resort town," is transplanted right from the Jersey Shore circa 1962. The beach is sandy and expansive, which is nice, but with the 3000 shandy motels, arcades, lobster shacks and kitschy stores, I can't see myself easily finding a piece of sand to brown my Vitamin D deficient ass in 2 months time. I found one local beach that I may go to not far from home, but it cost $15 to even ride my bike there, because this state is the goddamn libertarian paradise you've always wanted...with beach spiders.

Small price to pay for freedom.

[LMNO]

Or death. Y'know, if those are the options.

[East Coast Hustle]

I finally saw what New Hampshire calls a beach today.

I'm fucking frightened. I want to move back to Rhode Island, now. The majority of them are not sand, they're pebbles and chunks of granite building a breakwater to stop Nor'easters from ruining the pretty summer houses...with spiders! SPIDERS ON THE BEACH. RUNNING ALL AROUND THE PEBBLES FROM THE WATER AND THE PEOPLE. WHAT THE FUCK?

Hampton Beach, NH's "resort town," is transplanted right from the Jersey Shore circa 1962. The beach is sandy and expansive, which is nice, but with the 3000 shandy motels, arcades, lobster shacks and kitschy stores, I can't see myself easily finding a piece of sand to brown my Vitamin D deficient ass in 2 months time. I found one local beach that I may go to not far from home, but it cost $15 to even ride my bike there, because this state is the goddamn libertarian paradise you've always wanted...with beach spiders.

You're spitting distance from some amazing beaches, you'll just have to drive across the Piscataqua.

[Suu]

I finally saw what New Hampshire calls a beach today.

I'm fucking frightened. I want to move back to Rhode Island, now. The majority of them are not sand, they're pebbles and chunks of granite building a breakwater to stop Nor'easters from ruining the pretty summer houses...with spiders! SPIDERS ON THE BEACH. RUNNING ALL AROUND THE PEBBLES FROM THE WATER AND THE PEOPLE. WHAT THE FUCK?

Hampton Beach, NH's "resort town," is transplanted right from the Jersey Shore circa 1962. The beach is sandy and expansive, which is nice, but with the 3000 shandy motels, arcades, lobster shacks and kitschy stores, I can't see myself easily finding a piece of sand to brown my Vitamin D deficient ass in 2 months time. I found one local beach that I may go to not far from home, but it cost $15 to even ride my bike there, because this state is the goddamn libertarian paradise you've always wanted...with beach spiders.

You're spitting distance from some amazing beaches, you'll just have to drive across the Piscataqua.

That's what the locals tell me, fuck New Hampshire beaches, and just head up to Maine for the day.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Hello, I am back.  I am feeling entirely too well to be at work, which is never a good sign.  Mike the engineer was trying to explain something about maximum temperatures for confined space entry, and I was trying to explain to him that I wrote the procedure.  This led Lilly to ask where I got my information because it's very inconvenient that we have to let things cool down for 96 hours, and a 150C shouldn't be TOO bad, if they laid cardboard down to crawl on.

Naturally, I refused.  Mike was getting more and more agitated.  People were getting information from people who weren't him.  He started making a low keening noise, like a starving dog....It make us all look at him in horror.  The poor bastard had reached crush depth, and it was only 7:45AM on a Monday.  He had blood in his nose, and his eyes were rolling around and around and around, trying to look at everyone at once.  Baby Engineer and I were trying to quietly make book on whether or not he was having a stroke, when he suddenly vomited all over the table, killing the PC projector, which shorted to death on his vomit without a single spark or pop.  It just quietly died.

Mike began screaming about how nobody respects his knowledge and his PE stamp, with blood streaming out of his nose and vomit caked on his chin and shirt.  Then he ran out the door and got into his truck, and roared out of the parking lot, howling all the way.

All of this made dealing with the residual brain flukes easier, let me tell you.  I was just a paranoid asshole with a headache.  Mike was doing a full-on nervous breakdown wobbler, old school.  It's made me like him a little.  Almost.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Aw, hell with it.  The interbutts are empty.  THE WHOLE THING.

Taking a nap.

[ñͤͣ̄ͦ̌̑͗͊͛͂͗ ̸̨̨̣̺̼̣̜͙͈͕̮̊̈́̈͂͛̽͊ͭ̓͆ͅé ̰̓̓́ͯ́́͞]

Hello, I am back.  I am feeling entirely too well to be at work, which is never a good sign.  Mike the engineer was trying to explain something about maximum temperatures for confined space entry, and I was trying to explain to him that I wrote the procedure.  This led Lilly to ask where I got my information because it's very inconvenient that we have to let things cool down for 96 hours, and a 150C shouldn't be TOO bad, if they laid cardboard down to crawl on.

Naturally, I refused.  Mike was getting more and more agitated.  People were getting information from people who weren't him.  He started making a low keening noise, like a starving dog....It make us all look at him in horror.  The poor bastard had reached crush depth, and it was only 7:45AM on a Monday.  He had blood in his nose, and his eyes were rolling around and around and around, trying to look at everyone at once.  Baby Engineer and I were trying to quietly make book on whether or not he was having a stroke, when he suddenly vomited all over the table, killing the PC projector, which shorted to death on his vomit without a single spark or pop.  It just quietly died.

Mike began screaming about how nobody respects his knowledge and his PE stamp, with blood streaming out of his nose and vomit caked on his chin and shirt.  Then he ran out the door and got into his truck, and roared out of the parking lot, howling all the way.

All of this made dealing with the residual brain flukes easier, let me tell you.  I was just a paranoid asshole with a headache.  Mike was doing a full-on nervous breakdown wobbler, old school.  It's made me like him a little.  Almost.

Holy shit!

You get to have all the fun.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Hello, I am back.  I am feeling entirely too well to be at work, which is never a good sign.  Mike the engineer was trying to explain something about maximum temperatures for confined space entry, and I was trying to explain to him that I wrote the procedure.  This led Lilly to ask where I got my information because it's very inconvenient that we have to let things cool down for 96 hours, and a 150C shouldn't be TOO bad, if they laid cardboard down to crawl on.

Naturally, I refused.  Mike was getting more and more agitated.  People were getting information from people who weren't him.  He started making a low keening noise, like a starving dog....It make us all look at him in horror.  The poor bastard had reached crush depth, and it was only 7:45AM on a Monday.  He had blood in his nose, and his eyes were rolling around and around and around, trying to look at everyone at once.  Baby Engineer and I were trying to quietly make book on whether or not he was having a stroke, when he suddenly vomited all over the table, killing the PC projector, which shorted to death on his vomit without a single spark or pop.  It just quietly died.

Mike began screaming about how nobody respects his knowledge and his PE stamp, with blood streaming out of his nose and vomit caked on his chin and shirt.  Then he ran out the door and got into his truck, and roared out of the parking lot, howling all the way.

All of this made dealing with the residual brain flukes easier, let me tell you.  I was just a paranoid asshole with a headache.  Mike was doing a full-on nervous breakdown wobbler, old school.  It's made me like him a little.  Almost.

Holy shit!

You get to have all the fun.

It's like one of those isolation-thrillers.  9 people stuck in cabins in the mountains.  How long before they start barking like dogs and eating each other?

[Suu]

Hello, I am back.  I am feeling entirely too well to be at work, which is never a good sign.  Mike the engineer was trying to explain something about maximum temperatures for confined space entry, and I was trying to explain to him that I wrote the procedure.  This led Lilly to ask where I got my information because it's very inconvenient that we have to let things cool down for 96 hours, and a 150C shouldn't be TOO bad, if they laid cardboard down to crawl on.

Naturally, I refused.  Mike was getting more and more agitated.  People were getting information from people who weren't him.  He started making a low keening noise, like a starving dog....It make us all look at him in horror.  The poor bastard had reached crush depth, and it was only 7:45AM on a Monday.  He had blood in his nose, and his eyes were rolling around and around and around, trying to look at everyone at once.  Baby Engineer and I were trying to quietly make book on whether or not he was having a stroke, when he suddenly vomited all over the table, killing the PC projector, which shorted to death on his vomit without a single spark or pop.  It just quietly died.

Mike began screaming about how nobody respects his knowledge and his PE stamp, with blood streaming out of his nose and vomit caked on his chin and shirt.  Then he ran out the door and got into his truck, and roared out of the parking lot, howling all the way.

All of this made dealing with the residual brain flukes easier, let me tell you.  I was just a paranoid asshole with a headache.  Mike was doing a full-on nervous breakdown wobbler, old school.  It's made me like him a little.  Almost.

I thought you always liked Mike, it was the assistants you couldn't fucking stand.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Hello, I am back.  I am feeling entirely too well to be at work, which is never a good sign.  Mike the engineer was trying to explain something about maximum temperatures for confined space entry, and I was trying to explain to him that I wrote the procedure.  This led Lilly to ask where I got my information because it's very inconvenient that we have to let things cool down for 96 hours, and a 150C shouldn't be TOO bad, if they laid cardboard down to crawl on.

Naturally, I refused.  Mike was getting more and more agitated.  People were getting information from people who weren't him.  He started making a low keening noise, like a starving dog....It make us all look at him in horror.  The poor bastard had reached crush depth, and it was only 7:45AM on a Monday.  He had blood in his nose, and his eyes were rolling around and around and around, trying to look at everyone at once.  Baby Engineer and I were trying to quietly make book on whether or not he was having a stroke, when he suddenly vomited all over the table, killing the PC projector, which shorted to death on his vomit without a single spark or pop.  It just quietly died.

Mike began screaming about how nobody respects his knowledge and his PE stamp, with blood streaming out of his nose and vomit caked on his chin and shirt.  Then he ran out the door and got into his truck, and roared out of the parking lot, howling all the way.

All of this made dealing with the residual brain flukes easier, let me tell you.  I was just a paranoid asshole with a headache.  Mike was doing a full-on nervous breakdown wobbler, old school.  It's made me like him a little.  Almost.

I thought you always liked Mike, it was the assistants you couldn't fucking stand.

One assistant.  I hate him.

And I hate Mike.  I used to find him oddly endearing in King Hell Nerd kind of way, but now I want to slap him until his gut oscillates like a water balloon in a centerfuge.