Weekly Recrap

Well, this whole blogging thing is going quite well. Nora and I thought it would be a good idea to have a little SWC get-together. Nothing huge, just a barbecue with our loyal readers. The idea was to have it last Wednesday, and we thought we had everything in order.

That's right. We had everything set up on the compound and a big old pit perfect for a pig roast. It didn't quite turn out the way we'd planned, though. Mr. Technology, here, had a little snafu with the invite list.

I'm going to blame it on the internet. I don't possibly see how it could be my fault that the invitations got emailed to the wrong list. And I don't know how I got a list of email addresses for all of the strippers at Moo-vers and Shakers.

Eh, I shouldn't give you too hard a time, either. I accidentally forwarded the invite to a bunch of ladies from my mother in-law's Red Hat Society and some of my dad's old union cronies. It was a mixed bag, for sure. But the roast pig was splendid and the, uh, voluptuous burlesque review ended up being great entertainment.

I just wish some of your guests could have had some of the pig ... Hey! Remember that thing Sinsation did with her cankles? That was kind of h ... horrific. I wasn't going to say hot. Anyway, those union guys seemed to have a good time with ladies.

Yes, those girls were a blast. You know, Sin was right--I got a pair of stockings with seams, and it makes my medi-cankle look much shaplier. She was a real doll. And did you see how loose the Red Hats got when It's Raining Men came on?

I'm so glad they brought that Everclear.

Oh, that wasn't Everclear; that was Mrs. Prudhomme's moonshine. But you're right, it was the Local that brought the noise. I was pretty scared when the chicken fights started; I never thought I'd see the day that my Uncle Ricky would get taken down by a broad in a bustier.

He didn't stand a chance once Autumn Equiknockers got a hold of him, really. I don't think any of us would have. Things kind of slowed down after old Barry Richards got hauled away by the ambulance. Guys that age aren't supposed to get lap dances like that.

Well, I have no doubt that Uncle Ricky died happy. In fact, he looked happier in his casket than he ever did in life. And don't worry about Mr. Richards. He's fine. In fact, I think he's been courting Autumn since last week. He's all ate up with the dumbass over her, the poor girl. She should have listened when Juderonomy told her that Mr. Richards is a little clingy. Anyway, it was a lot of fun, but the next time we have a SWC party, we've got to make sure we get our readers there, right?

Most definitely, but Sinsation-if you're reading this-you're invited, too.