Wednesday, July 5, 2017

Purple Mountain's Majesty

That's us.

That's us last year when we went camping without the kids.

In their place we brought plenty of Bacardi, Maker's Mark and those strange off-price beers Paul likes to pick up at low-rent bodegas in Gardena.

You can tell by my shit-eating grin, I'd already put quite a dent in the bourbon stockade.

And you can tell from where Colin, our South African friend, is seated all the way on the left, that he had already put a dent into our supply of boerewors and beans.

It's not easy for a bunch of tech-challenged 44 year olds to snap a group selfie way up in the Eastern Sierras. It takes a lot of...

"Hit this button"

"What if you did this?"

"No, that's the Sepia filter, you don't do that."

But, we managed.

Even more impressive, we figured out how to return the camera to normal mode so we could get a shot of the view enjoyed from this meadow side seat.

Maybe next year, Independence.

(editorial Note: tomorrow we will return to our regular Thursday adventures in And next week the bile returns with more rants about advertising, politics and the childish buffoonery of our clouted, fat kidney malt worm, aka Precedent Shitgibbon.)

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