Why, hello there Mr. Porter
· 23 November 2004 ·

Aah, it t’was a grey skied afternoon/evening, yet the clouds were sewn tight as not to release any of their precious contents, which would later be greatly appreciated by all. Comrades found comrades found comrades in the lines of illegal ferry traffic and soon all were on their way. The boat ride was most enjoyable as always, in every possible magical way. At the ol’ Market cabin on Lopez waited ol’ man Market himself and his tastey keg of Rockfish Porter.

The ball started rolling and in a few hours the shindig was swinging with swingers from inner circles, outter circles, and some eliptical circles as well. Massive amounts of tastey brownies and rice krispy treats were devoured by the raging monster that was known as a good time. Drums, fires, joints, and bellies blazed in a sizzling vortex of what the rest of the Pacific Coast time zone called 7pm-3am.

When it was all said and done, the aftermath wasn’t terrible at all. However Mr. Porter had made his complete exit from the scene hours prior, when we were all practicing our hand stands.

Written by Rich Halvorsen

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