(many (many)) port-a-johns

. Fountain

Saint Patrick’s Day is a big deal in Savannah — parade, beer tents, turkey legs for sale, America Gladiator-esque jousting events, black hawk helicopters landing in Forsythe Park, drunken tourists, and many (many (many)) port-a-johns.  Truth be told, I’d be in Cleveland right now, but then Kirsten & Ryan announced their impending visit, so I’m still here.  Sarah is coming now, too, so what was once looking to be a weekend of debauchery is now destined to be a weekend of madness to end all weekends of madness.  God willing.

Videotaped some weirdness down on River Street last night, including a debate between me and a guy who handed me a flier which indicated I was going to hell.  He insisted that saying the word "shit" was of equal nastiness as raping someone, and I told him that he was being silly.  He concluded the conversation by reiterating my imminent arrival in hell.

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