Once again we made our pilgrimage to the annual Briggs Farm Blues Fest where thousands sat in the hot, summer Pa sun and quaffed copious amounts of intoxicating fluids. Heat strokes, mirages and general madness were rampant, but that's all part of the fun. It wasn't all bad. As I sat there feeling my life force ebbing with thousands of fellow sufferers I was reawakened and renewed by the smell of cigars and marijuanna wafting through the air. And there... in the middle of mayhem and chaos was St. Phred, the patron saint of imbibation, who was canonized for teaching the lepers to sing. He looked me straight in the eye and said a pearl of wisdom so profound it drained the lymph from my glands. He said, "looks like you need some rum, bud." I was imbued and imbibed.
1 comment:
I never DID get that dance with Phred ... a pity. I could have been sanctified *s*
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