We spent the weekend in Grand Lake where, if you hiked up a short trail behind approximately 750 slowish Boy Scouts, you might see Adams Falls. A few years ago some guy pushed his pregnant wife into them. Look at those pretty flowers!
Lolevi tried on some little girl sunglasses. Stylish, but they only have a UV rating of pink pony.
It wouldn't be the fourth of July without a pair of pasty white old guy legs. And a novelty bikini shirt. And a cowboy hat. And cowboy boots. And a bucket full of money to help pay for the aloe later.
I celebrated my independence by totally pitting out my shirt. I'm an American -- I'll fly my B.O. flag if I want.
And later topped off the liberty cake with a high-altitude bloody nose.
Now we're back in the 'hood where it seems a solid twenty square blocks of neighbors have spent this month's unemployment checks on gun powder and war canons. Forget the right to bear arms -- here's to whiskey and earplugs.
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