I had the intention of photographing
Beerfest (Note: it's not actually
called "Beerfest," but has some other more civilized and proper name. I thumb my nose at civilized and proper.) and posting a nice photoblog of participating vendors and general merry-making, knowing full well that this is the kind of event in which my communication abilities would be reduced to short, declarative statements such as "I'm drunk," "I'm hungry," "I wanna go," and "I think I'm gonna puke.". This is what I ended up with.
Nothing like buying your wicker chickens and moon pies all in one place. Also, a great place to practice foot-shuffling.
A solid basecoat.
Look, it's Paulie!!!
My two favorite words: Media Pass.
Blessed be thine name.
Whole lotta white people running through mud, drinking beer, wearing sweat bibs.
PS, I coined a new term for "wifebeater": sweat bib. Go forth and procreate.This guy actually walked into a tattoo parlor and said, "You know what I want? I want a tattoo of a big fucking Guinness logo. And I want it right above my ASS." And so it was.
Sitting on the dock by the river, smoking ciggies, drinking beer. A near-perfect day.
What surprised me the most was the number of people wearing galoshes. Who knew so many people owned galoshes? Must be a white person thing.
Mud.
Our thoughts on mud.
Oh the things one can achieve with a BAC of .14
Mine too, bro. Mine too.
Beerfest: The Deevolution. 
