Thursday August 15. It was a beautiful sunny day when I got there at 12:45. Some folks, such as Trevor and Handsome Rob (aka Side Boob Rob), had been there since the night before, so they had gotten a head start on relieving themselves of their dignity. I set up my tent and blew up my inflatable love doll, then went to the pavilion to start destroying myself. There were already lots of kegs, including Les's sangria and Trevor's hop water (aka fag water). Speaking of fags, we have lost hope of ever seeing Fagner at MASHOUT again, since he is too much of a wimp to handle camping. He's the only person I know who is both a dick and a pussy.

I visited the NoVA folks, who had several kegs, as well as this beer set:

At dinnertime we went to Camp CRABS for tacos, the first of many colorectal assaults that we would incur throughout the weekend.

		MASHOUT virgin Tom pulls a Ben.

Then we went back to the pavilion where Jon from BaltiBrew held a urine -- uh, Mexican lager tasting.

We hung out under the pavilion for a few hours. DJ Mike didn't make it this year, but DJ Jazzy Jeff filled in nicely, providing lots of great music. At around 11:00 we returned to Camp CRABS, where Trevor made meatball subs that would add bulk to the next day's stools.

Friday August 16. I got up at o'dark thirty, took a dump, and drove to Rocky Gap Casino Resort, where, as every year, I sneaked in to use the facilities for shitting, shaving, and showering.

It was a cloudy morning with some rain in the forecast. When I returned, the CRABS breakfast was being cooked. As folks woke up they trickled into Camp CRABS like a stream of pee. (I've never been great at analogies.) We were joined by someone's grandson (in the orange shirt), who seemed very interested in Jazzy Jeff's kilt. Grover mentioned that he had to renew his NAMBLA membership.

We went to the pavilion, being useless while Twila prepared cheeses and other foods for Sour Hour. Grover showed why he has more restraining orders than anyone else in Maryland.

Some of the CRABSters prepared potatoes to make french fries later. Justin lent his electric slicer, which easily cut all the potatoes, two fingers, and a shmekel.

And then it was time for Sour Hour. First, Mike from Firefly Farms, who supplied the cheese for the event, talked about his products and the state of dairy farms in general. Then we enjoyed beers that were infected on purpose, in contrast to mine, which usually start out as a pale ale or hefeweizen, then devolve into a science experiment (kind of like when I took metal shop in school, where everything I made ended being an ashtray).

Meanwhile, off to the side, a homo poker game broke out.

Afterward we hung out at Camp CRABS. I offered my orzo salad, which no one would touch. If you want to know what we did after that, don't ask me or Jeff.

Then the sliced potatoes were fried...

...for a communal burgers-and-fries dinner.

We spent the evening under the pavilion, enjoying the 30+ homebrews on tap and music from Jazzy Jeff. Mexican Radio was played about every half hour, each time prompting Trevor to open another bottle of Mexican lager and foist it upon unsuspecting campers.

At midnight we returned to Camp CRABS, where Craig and Rachel treated us to pizza that they baked in their pizza oven.

Saturday August 17. Did an emergency waddle to the facilities before dawn with my ass cheeks clenched so tight that they could have made a diamond out of a lump of coal. Then I went to Rocky Gap Casino Resort for another crap and a free shower [insert Holocaust joke here].

The previous day's rain and the lingering humidity made everything wetter than a dildo in a women's prison. Les, Jeff, and Greg cooked us all breakfast, including leftover french fries soaked in bacon grease, because our arteries were just too darned clean. My orzo salad went uneaten again. Afterward we went to the pavilion, where Jon held a blind pilsner tasting.

Then I went with Jeff and MASHOUT virgin John to nearby 1812 Brewery, where we tried 8 of their beers.

We returned in time for the first annual mead/cider tasting

I did my usual fly catcher impersonation while Steve and Jon played backup.

And of course there was another homoerotic poker game.

The next few hours escape me, probably because I passed out again. I think there was a food-beer pairing, but I missed it. I did manage to make it to the clean-out-your-cooler dinner, where still no one would eat my fucking orzo salad. Then we had another night of drinking, music, Mexican lager pop-ups prompted by Mexican Radio, and dancing, some of which was topless, so thankfully I didn't take any photos of that. On the right side of the photo below you can see Trevor in a rare moment when he wasn't forcing people to drink pisswater.

At midnight we were treated to more "4^th meal" pizza from Craig and Rachel, thereby ensuring that we remained more bloated than Lizzo on her period.

Sunday August 18. I ass-aulted the toilet twice before packing up and leaving. It had been another great weekend of food, beer, revelry, and shame.

Some memorable quotes from the weekend:

• "Everything is a sex toy if you have enough lube."
• "An assload is exactly one dildo."
• "A pine cone would make a really lousy buttplug."
• "Nobody wants a low fat handjob."
• "All the stupid people in the world are right here."
• "You are literally walking in Ben's urine."