January 26 2008
Well gang, it’s the highly depressing middle of Winter. There’s only one football game that means anything, and pitchers and catchers (assuming they’re not all in jail for some reason) don’t report to Spring training until, well, almost Spring.
Deer season is over, most of us aren’t clever enough or hearty enough to have any success at fishing, and the political primaries are becoming mind numbing.
The politicians should quit fooling around and just go ahead and make the process a full contact sport. That way the people would really get some enjoyment out of it
Yes, this is the time of year when we can thank our lucky stars for beer and guns to liven things up a little.
Of course it occasionally gets a little out of hand….like last Sunday.
A bunch of the boys got together for one of our club’s favorite competitions. Where you shoot a shot, drink a pint of beer, shoot a shot drink another pint of beer etc. until you shoot twelve shots, and then you add up your scores to determine the winner.
What made this occasion different from most others was, that the beer wasn’t beer, but was an English ale called Fuller’s E.S.B.
The E.S.B. stands for "extra special bitters", but those who are familiar with the stuff, call it extra stupid beer.
It’s called that because of the high alcohol content.
The Englishman who had donated the E.S.B. decided not to take part in the contest, and later stated that the reason was that he didn’t want to miss any of the fun.
The competition was a farce. By the time it was over, all but the evil Englishman were comatose, which was a good thing.
Apparently, one of the competitors, seeking to ward off the chill of the evening, had stood by the fire and passed out face first into it, and the Englishman was the only one sober enough to drag his unconscious form from the fire pit.
The competitor, who shall remain nameless, was bald anyway, but loosing his handle bar moustache seems to have upset him quite a bit. At the time of the incident, the absence of eyebrows hadn’t really registered yet.
No one was in any kind of shape to judge the competition, and no one could remember what target they were shooting at anyway, so the event was called a twelve way tie.
All the boys were favorably impressed by the E.S.B. to be sure. And everybody vowed to stock up on some when they recovered from the competition.
A twelve way tie in a shooting competition.
Gotta admit, you don’t see too many of them.

Till next week
Helga Biermeister
Secretary