Not blood, nor sweat or tears

When HT outlined Burger Night she omitted some of the rules, and my wanton breaking of them on the night in question: First, I don't make random forays into the realm of fromage -- I have my burgers with bleu cheese and bacon OR on nights of less wanton abandonment, avocado and cheddar. Beer Can Night, I ordered gruyere, and I believe that was the beginning of the end. Second, burger night for me revolves around manhood. To be fair, I have not always been much of a man. When I met HT I didn't smoke, had never watched baseball, and my favorite drink was whatever was whatever was available. HT introduced me to nicotine, the World Series, and bourbon. It changed my life. I now work in sports media, struggle with addiction, and subsist on Maker's Mark. For me, burger night might as well be called Gout Night. It's a celebration of the good life, of red meat, whiskey or red wine, and how this wonderful woman made me a man. (1) That night we shared white wine. Third, Burger Night is about hate or more accurately "righteous judgment." This night we decided to not judge for the whole dinner. Bad outfits, doomed relationships, amusing sluts... we let it all slide until we walkd out the door. And it was THEN and only THEN that G-d's beer can rained down from the heavens in a show of righteous judgment for our trangressions. Also, I got water balloons thrown at me later that night in Williamsburg. They missed, but splashed my pant legs making me worry they were filled with something disgusting, but, thankfully it was none of my titular fears. So from now on, the rules will be well observed. Even though I really wanted a burger and company tonight. It is, after all, not Tuesday. (1) We didn't have sex. And she could only do so much. I am gay. I love pop music. I cry at movies.

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