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Sunday afternoon bicycle ride to a number of local pubs for a pint or two at each. Starting at home, looping around a section of the city stopping at your favorite pubs heading back home hopefully intact.
On Sunday afternoon's if the weather is decent we'll ride from home and go downtown along the river for a pint at a couple of pubs, and loop around the city through midtown at a few more palces until we arive home with a nice buzz. It is a pleasant beer loop.
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We called Wes to see if he wanted to go to the bar, but he never answered his cell. I believe he was too busy squeezing the iguana.
Almost every rugby club has at one time encountered a rugby rogue. this traveling scumbag appears at practice or a match and joins the club willing to assist in the collective efforts. He is usually a piggy, and has a trade, like a carpenter or electrician, and finds a place to live with some of the batchleor players. Within a year, he leaves without notice, absconding with property and funds belonging to the roommates and the club.
Last year Rich started playing with us, and moved in with Android and Buddha. We should have been known that he was a rugby rogue since he was 35 and pocessed only a kit, some clothes and a 15 year-old Dodge truck. He sold $400 worth of raffle tickets, did not turn in any of the stubs or the money, and when we went to the house he was gone and so was Buddha's stereo and Android's furniture.
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a middle age woman good looking enough to be have her pussy eaten on the dining room table
When I first saw David's mother I new she was table grade, and would have eaten her on the spot.
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A friend, associate or colleauge that plays one particular or a small number of popular songs repetitively to the point of distraction.
Wes got the new Kings of Leon CD and he plays it right next to me in my cube over and over again. He has played the damn thing four or more times every day for the last two months like an eight year old with a new Raffi DVD. I used to like it, but I hope I never hear it again. He really has the Raffi Syndrome.
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Mostly in rural Georgia, the panhandle of Florida, Lower Alabama, southwest South Carolina and parts of Tennessee, the Cracker Nation cosists of white blue collar and farm workers who's lack of intelligance and education is matched with their fierce loyalty to lost causes and extremley rightwing views that are against their best intrests. For a long time they were identified with members of the KKK, and bufoons like the brother of the 39th president. Often arrested for petty crimes like public urination after finishing a twelve-pack of cheep swill and are unable to make it to the rest room of the 7-11, which resembles a scene from Dante's Inferno. Their most identifing physical features are goiters and back haircuts.
True to form, the members of the Cracker Nation voted universally for the losing side of the 2008 presidential election.
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The area in your house that your wife allows you to hang out with your friends, listen to music, drink, smoke and generally cut-up and be loud and obnoxious. Usually the garage.
On Saturday nights my buds and I meet over at Walkers low-rent man cave, his converted tool shed, to smoke, drink, laugh and raise hell amongst the lawn mower, weed eater and yard implements. We listen to a football game or find a bluegrass station on his parents 1971 Magnavox AM/FM/Clock Radio using a straightened clothes hanger as an antenna. All of the furniture is from yard sales or picked up off the side of the road.
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