I got there early Thursday afternoon and admired the beauty of the location. Until I saw Grover. Jeez, that guy could make a train take a dirt road. Anyway, I set up my tent, worked at the registration table for a while, and set about drinking various homebrews around the field, including Grover's Irish Red Ale, made with "pure hate".

Jason's stash.

Before I knew it the sun was setting. Dinner on CRABS Hill consisted of deep fried turkey and ... well, that's all I had. The rest of the evening was spent drinking and enjoying the great weather. It was a nice relaxing time, except when both Grover and Gay Ron told stories of how they've been hit on in gay bars. That was truly disturbing.

The night air was comfortable and dry, which was fortunate since I had forgotten my tent fly. I called Trixie and let her know so she could bring it when she arrived on Saturday. She said she'd be happy to handle my fly.

Friday morning I went down to Rocky Gap Lodge to shave, shower and shit. Not necessarily in that order. The public showers were being rebuilt, and I heard that there were some temporary makeshift showers, but the ones in the lodge were much nicer and free, and you all know how we Jews love free showers.

It was a gorgeous day, which was perfect for drinking. Of course, I also drink when it rains. Gay Ron was dressed exceptionally gay that day. I also spotted no fewer than three people wearing kilts, making it the gayest MASHOUT ever. People arrived throughout the day, bringing lots of beer and filling Keg Row. My two favorite beers that day were Art's peach beer and a sour ale from Jason. The peach beer mixed with my gueuze made a nice peche.

As usual, CRABS rocked Keg Row.	Look at all those hooligans.

When Jim and Milhouse arrived I heard someone say, "MASHOUT just got gayer." We kicked around the idea of adding a note to the MASHOUT entrance sign that says, "Come in the rear."

Look at all those friggin' tents!

We drank for the rest of the day. Included in the festivities was Sour Hour on CRABS Hill. Most of the beers were brewed by Jason. There was also a double dry-hopped Loose Cannon that had sat in a cask for 5 months and picked up some funk. Chimay cheese accompanied the beers nicely.

Trevor serves Chimay cheese.	This pic *could* be from Sour Hour. It's all a fog.

Later on a cask of Amarillo-hopped Venom was tapped. We were so busy drinking that there wasn't time for the wing-off so it got postponed to the next day.

Jim pours a beer...	...and another...	...then announces that he wiped but didn't wash.

Buck, who mows the field, shared a number of stews made with wild game including squirrel, pheasant, deer, and fish that he caught. He uses a .22 magnum for shooting squirrels in order to avoid getting hair in the meat. [Insert sexual joke here.]

In the evening Jeff and Trevor played guitars while Gay Ron accompanied them on bongos. Later at the barn, Black Falls freakin' ROCKED the house.

The band.	Drummer Dominic, from Cross Street Irregulars.

Speaking of the house, House was in his usual form: he spoke unintelligibly and passed out in a chair. The night air was warm and beautiful. There were lots of goings-on, including Jenga, which is a game where drunk people play with wood. I stayed up until 3:30 AM drinking. At one point I lay down on the ground to rest. Grover thought I was passing out so he tried to give me dick-to-mouth resuscitation. I told him, "No thanks - I already flossed."

Someone spins a laser projector at the campfire.

I took 5 shits over the following 5 hours. My butt hurt so much that I felt like Elton John in prison. I availed myself of Rocky Gap Lodge in the morning. My apologies to the next person who dries themself off with the pool towel that I used.

Saturday morning consisted of breakfast followed by wrist rockets, which isn't as perverted as it sounds. Wrist rockets are slingshots. The best part of that excursion was Grover hiding behind the grass pretending to be Viet Cong while wearing a conical Asian hat. Meanwhile other folks drank at Keg Row.

The Brews Brothers?	The proprietors of Camp du Saison.

Around noon it was time for the wing-off, which featured about 40 pounds of wings and 7 dipping sauces. Trixie showed up during it, hitting the beer first and then me. Immediately afterward we went to Camp du Saison for Saison Slam, featuring a cask of Stillwater Artisanal Ales Cellar Door, plus numerous homebrewed saisons and sour ales. Kudos to Paul for his watermelon lambic saison. The beers were accompanied by goat cheese and CRABS wings.

Cellar Door.	Saison Slam.

Jen and Trixie took a dip in the pool, and by "dip" I don't mean me. First they had to remove the fake dog poop that Art had put in there. (At least he said it was fake.)

The CRABS Big Beer and Food Pairing featured the following:

• Lindemans Cuvée René
• Lindemans Cassis
• Heavy Seas Hang Ten (aged in a bourbon barrel)
• Don's robust porter
• Smuttynose Gravitation
• Lisa's vodka flavored with tomatoes, peppers, etc.
• someone's fruity beer
• Avery 17 paired with brats and kraut
• Joel's peat-smoked porter paired with salmon spread on Milhouse crackers
• Duclaw Devil's Milk paired with dates and bacon (dates rendered in a barleywine sauce)
• CRABS bourbon barrel stout paired with a grilled peach glazed in a bourbon barrel stout reduction
• New Glarus Raspberry Tart with a dollop of spiced vanilla Whipahol
• Jay's tripel
• Jeff's smoked weizenbock
• Duclaw Colossus
• Ben's gueuze
• Brewers Art Green Peppercorn Tripel
• Allagash Four
• 2005 Duclaw Blackjack (aged in a bourbon barrel)
• Stone Smoked Porter
• Bear Republic Hop Rod Rye
• Oliver's Blakeney Red Perry
• Alesmith Speedway Stout
• Don's Scotch ale
• Cantillon 2002 Lou Pepe Gueuze
• Tom's tripel
• Malt Extrakt (a non-alcoholic drink from Iceland)

After the tasting I was asked to remove my American flag boxers, which had a huge hole in back into which various people (female I hope) had slipped their hands. Maybe they were ass-trologists. Or ass-matic. Anyway, I replaced the flag boxers with "My name is Dick" boxers and went down to drink at another campsite, where I passed out for a while. In my absence Alan burned my shorts.

I wish the hole had been in front.	The shorts come off.

Alan ceremoniously burns them.	The remains.

We gorged ourselves at the community feast because the port-o-pots needed filling. Keg Row had about 40 kegs by this time. Trixie managed, while pouring beer, to whack herself on the head with a tap handle. I managed to pass out again. House and Alan escorted me to my tent despite my protestations that "Ahm not zrunk!"

There was a big homo poker game followed by joke telling. Trixie and others played Vajenga. Jim broke wind into the megaphone, after which he needed some PBW (powdered butt wash). It was ass-tonishing. Grover terrorized various campsites by running around shirtless wearing a bear mask. Yet somehow Milhouse got voted That Guy.

It rained most of the night, so it's a good thing Trixie had found my fly. As usual. Sunday morning Melanie accidentally locked her keys in her car. Several CRABSters were able to break in and retrieve them. They finished shortly after Trixie and I did. They cheered and applauded, I assume for the car thing.

The weather improved. We partook of the community breakfast and packed up all of our wet gear.

I was the last CRABSter to leave, so I had to remove all of the butt plugs and ball gags from CRABS Hill. Thanks Grover. And Jim. And Bo.

A few quotes from the weekend:

• "This beer smells like ass. Oh wait, that's my finger."
• "I hate when I get drunk - I can't do stuff."
• "Whose meat is in my mouth?"
• "I have a penis, therefore I'm an asshole."
• "Anyone want my chicken skin?"
• "Get ready to get clay out of your hair, bitch."
• "Joel rhymes with asshole."
• "Is that someone's sauce?"
• "We might not be able to brew beer, but we sure can break into cars."