Yet Another Reason, In A Long Line of Them, Not To Live In The Suburbs

I went to the Redhook Brewery with some coworkers this weekend to once again take their tour. Redhook is now in a town called Woodinville which is north-east of Seattle, about 30 miles away. It used to be in Ballard, here in Seattle, but they had to move when they got bigger.

I gotta tell you, this tour is great! It costs a dollar, you get information in varying degrees of usefulness, you get a souvenir glass, and you get a shitload of Redhook beer. For a dollar!

Okay, yeah, we'll take you there next time you're here. Sorry, thought you were into the Ballard locks. Jeez...

Anyway, I learned that at some point during the beer making process they do something called "sparging the mash". How fast did this become new terminology for masturbation? About as quickly as the tour guide got through the 'h' in mash. So, all done up on inexpensive beer and liberally using the words, 'sparge my mash', we convened on the good people of Woodinville down in the brewery's restaurant.

Now, I have behaved inappropriately in public domains before, I am sure I have embarrassed friends and compatriots with this sort of behavior, but I was ill prepared for the sort of vehemence displayed by these Eastside folk when they overheard sentiments like, "gayer than 8 guys blowing 9 guys" and "I need to go sparge my mash".

You would think that folks from a place called Woodinville would tolerate a dick joke or two.

Our table of 7 drunkards was getting looks from surrounding tables that seemed to say we had suggested having sex with each of their deceased grandparents. The table behind us threw faces and gasps as if we had actually dug up the corpses of their relatives and fucked them doggie style right there on the table in front of them.

And I gotta tell you, this night was like a 3 on a 10 point scale of inappropriateness. When the ladies began sticking cameras in their shirts to photograph their breasts, the family behind us had had enough. The parents got up from the table with audible huffs and looks on their faces as if they had just swallowed rancid dog semen. Scotty gave an apology which was received with a spewed out, "whatever floats your boat".

As it turns out, the thing that keeps my boat floating is making soulless suburbanites in loveless marriages feel violated. If they don't leave a microbrewery feeling as though their sense of decency and taste have been ass raped, then the Titanic goes down - so to speak.

However, their teenage daughter... Loved us! I have hopes that she'll break out of the Eastside, attend a liberal arts college and occasionally sleep with a woman.