Recap

Astute observers would have noticed that a dread case of schedule slip occurred this past Sunday. This is with good reason: Fernando was in no mood to upload a tale of dread, woe, or merriment, for he had been obligated over the previous days to participate in the wedding ceremony of his homeboy Iacobo. The Dominion's doors shut and, queerly enough, no one asked stupid questions of Fernando's reasons for closing up as they had the last time he took time for a mini-vacation.

The Dominion's back room had been chosen as the location for the bachelor party; debauchery could readily at-hand and the murderous Cellar Spiders, absolutely not to be confused with the benevolent above-ground Guardian Spiders, could handily dispose of any corpses which happened to be created in the course of festivities. Such things would bring Fernando no joy, as prey-juices would invigorate those troglodytic monsters, but good fortune was had: no one and nothing expired over the course of celebrating, which went on for roughly twelve hours. It was a smallish affair, as Fernando understands bachelor parties to go. Fernando and Iacobo were of course in attendance, as were Alfonso, Ronaldo, Cortez, Teodor, Bergeron, and Damien.

Catriona, by dint of possessing a vagina, had been forbidden attendance at this momentous event by her mother; rather, she was to giggle at the simultaneous bachelorette party over curiosities like penis-shaped ice or Cards Against Humanity. While this does sound as though it were a merry time, it lacked the defining feature of Fernando's shindig: impressive amounts of meat. During the party's course, eight or so pounds of animal flesh were consumed in brat and burger and hot dog form by the guests, notwithstanding the assortment of fixin's and appropriate side dishes accompanying this fare. One brat which tumbled into the coals was given over to Catriona as a burnt sacrifice, for she was ever in the guests' hearts, and the bottle of charcoal lighter fluid was emptied on that day. Ronaldo took the bratwurst eating contest prize, with eight consumed sausages. The reward in question? The right and obligation to eat the final remaining bratwurst of the initial three pounds.

One can file this one under “Phyrric victory.”

Once the sun finally set, prompting the moths and June bugs to initiate their rapacious nightlife, the action retreated indoors. Gifts were given to Iacobo, the sodding bastard, in whose name this travesty had been erected: dollar store insects (and a rat), a giant two-pound bag of peppered beef jerky, a single condom (for emergencies, one must understand), one bottle of the most delicious beer in all the world (that of the Schlenkerla), and a swanky hat which could perhaps be worn during the wedding ceremony or the off-the-hook reception, or even some other time if Iacobo felt the need.

At this juncture came the rolling of bones, though in fact little was accomplished upon the tabletop. Fernando, Iacobo, and his guests were quite fine with bullshitting for bullshit's sake over some cracked-open brews, reminiscing over adventures from days long past and portending adventures which were to come.