Sunday, Try-Not-To-Projectile-Vomit Day

My dear friends,

Our 2nd November sketchy hour was a success. But not as successful as it should’ve been. So far we are 2 for 2 in screwing up plans.

We were supposed to meet at 2 on Saturday for a Meat Raffle at the Schooner. I don’t know if I can even think of anything more awesome to do on a Saturday afternoon. Oh wait, I can…but you know, on days when we’re not throwing parties and stuff.

Anyways, at about 4 am on Saturday morning, my body decided it had other plans. Basically those plans were to continuously puke until there was nothing else to possibly get out. And then, it’d just force me to violently throw up bile, or my intestines, or the tiny sip of Gatorade I drank to try to keep myself from dying of dehydration. Wanted. To. Die.

Needless to say, we rescheduled. So there we were, Sunday at the Schooner. And boy was it filled with weirdos. Oh Schooner, you never let me down.

I overheard a pretty fantastic conversation where some old buddies tried to figure out who was “livin’ in Frank’s garage.” They asked a few other regulars, but no one knew. A Schooner mystery to solve another day.

But the Schooner has much more than weirdos, they also have free hot dogs.


Sadly, I couldn’t partake (for obvious reasons). Clarissa didn’t either, but that’s because she’s a lady. Peter scarfed down 3 and would’ve ate 4, but now that Brett Favre is a Viking, we do nothing in 4s.

Final ruling: the Schooner is a fantastic place to spend Sunday afternoon drawing with your buddies. Two enthusiastic thumbs up.

Now take a gander at these fine sketches.


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