A Fart That Shakes The Nuts

Thursday night was poker night with the guys, and I found that lady luck is still off on a Bahamian vacation or something for me. But when you're playing for laughable $2 buy-ins, the idea is just to sit and drink some beers and have a good time, and in that light I'm a pro comparable to any of the best. Thursday night after the beers however I slept (yes infact slept, not passed out) in a position for which my neck has let me know about it since with some kind of pinched nerve or something. Being stubborn as I am, I refuse to seek an actual diagnosis, instead offering my own prescribed remedies as I see fit. Hot showers, heating pads, stretching, ignoring, and self medicating with alcohol all have provided at least temporary relief, and the ache is slowly going away. Hopefully by morning its to the point where I can sit at the computer for a period beyond a half hour to accomplish some formal writing.

This weekend, instead of coddling my neck like I tried to no avail on Friday, I opted to try not to let it get me down. Last night was board games and beers in what might as well have been called couples night, but thankfully was not quite so contrived. After a humiliation in Pictionary, we moved on to a loose game of Balderdash.

For those of you unfamiliar with the latter, its a game in which real, but obscure words are listed on cards, and those playing attempt to create a definition that matches the true one, or to make the other players believe theirs to be the real one. Invariably, the game degrades to nonsense and badgering within 4 or 5 words. From 'a gay duck' to 'for the cleanest snatch in town' to 'Dave blows goats' the game degrades quickly sober, and exponentially faster when drinking. This leads us to last night's new hall of fame quote with:

balthazar (n.) - a fart that shakes the nuts

Now, the true definition is infact a wine bottle holding 13 quarts, but by the time that came up, its true meaning was beyond all repair forever, with a whole new can of adjectives and adverbs opened up.

Yes, this blog has resorted to toilet humour. I'm shocked I managed to hold out this long.

I also managed to get out of the house for a while this afternoon to nerd out on some more geocaching, but mostly to get some sun. After driving around in the country for a few hours, it was decided that we should hit up the town of Fergus for their Dairy Queen and use of a bathroom, since some of us (clearly not myself) are opposed to using a convenient tree or bush. We ended up coming across a BMW car rally in the parking lot of the new big block store plaza found on the outskirts of every self-respecting town of 5,000 or more these days. Some sharp looking Audis and Porsches were also parked in their midst.

And then, of course, framed in the most perfect of backdrops, your requisite Honda Civic with the hood popped showing off the turbo kit and whatever else thrown in to give the illusion of having the same performance as the lower end of the nicer cars there for the same combined price. Also requisite is the flat grey primer colour with rough patches of some half-assed body work until money on the pimp my ride project ran out.