Valensorow's Maiden Voyage, as remembered by Slamby pt. 5: Can't, or Won't?

With the land boat loaded, Valensorow set off to the house of Dr. Bruce's good friend. He was set to get married, so we decided to celebrate with him! Oh how wonderful love and marriage is! It's beautiful, finding that one special person whose hair you will hold for eternity, that one special person you will let see all your flaws and rolls, and how happy this couple seemed as the wife-to-be left her lover with us for the day. As we took a sacred vow of silence, I will only mention a few events that we experienced, yet none that will incriminate anyone.

The morning came and we awoke on the floor, and being from California my entire life it was such a treat to see this sunrise. Moans and groans aside, waking up in those mountains and looking at the natural beauty was as uplifting as the air crisp and clean (again, compared to LA, anything is clean). Breakfast was a feast prepared by our most gracious host and companions. I was lucky enough to grab some bacon and sausage before it was devoured, the Clan seemed quite famished from their journey and the meat was their primary focus. After we dined, we set off for the Patty Jewett Golf Course. On arrival, we split up in different groups; some hit the course, others the driving range, and the remainders hit the bar.

Interesting history: the golf course was originally owned by the Jewett family, long-lost ancestors of Wuldor. The course was donated to the city of Colorado Springs, yet if the city ever has to get rid of it, the course will go instantly back to the closest relative in the Jewett line. As Wuldor's father explained, those Jewett's are of a different class than the Blaakharts, so there is very little chance ever that Wuldor could have his own golf course. But...just imagine...driving around on golf carts outfitted like pirate ships, with a giant sign above the entrance, “Captain Wuldor Blaakhart Golf Course: No Polos Permitted.”

Afterwards, we dined at a local steakhouse. That is all I should say about that. We did NOT try to get bottle service, we did NOT make a scene, and we did NOT order countless sangrias. They did, however, run out of glasses while serving us, that I can tell you. That was embarrassing, clearly they were not prepared. We also split up again and I had the pleasure of getting lost in a liquor warehouse. Over ninety fridges of beer, rows of peppermint schnapps, and then Ferret purchased what I did not expect to ever see: bacon beer. As a deer, I feel a little awful admitting my love of bacon, and I do enjoy beer, so the combination is an amazing idea. In reality, I felt like I was drinking a stout made from pig fat. Intriguing, but not worth repeating.

It should be public knowledge that in the course of the night, we managed to create a beer pong table where I challenged Tommy Noble to a match of beer pong. His partner was a local, my partner Wuldor. Let it be known that Slamby, an alcoholic dead deer head, is better at beer pong than the Clan's most noble of vocalists. Shortly thereafter, I fell into a deep sleep while listening to "I Fink You Freeky" by Die Antwoord.