The meaning of X-mas

~Edd

It’s the most wonderful time of the year, with the kids jingle belling and everyone telling you, “Be of good cheer!” It’s the most wonderful time of the year….. Bah….

I’m not the biggest fan of Christmas. Hell, If it weren’t for the joyful nostalgia, and the fact getting called a “Grinch” every two seconds is MOST annoying thing on planet Earth, few would be.  It’s an overly-commercialized lump of coal, shamelessly plagiarizing pagan solstice rituals with a thin veil of vaguely religious undertones. The stress of holiday traffic, braving the stores, hoping your gift doesn’t suck (and that you’ve remembered everyone on your “list”), spending time with families, the COLD. Jesus it’s no wonder the holiday season has the highest depression and suicide rates of the whole year!

The above has been my Christmas experience. I’m a Scrooge, a Grinch, a Humbug, whatever you want to call me. I figured this would continue into the future, but this year was different. Let’s talk about it. During the wedding, I met Rob’s parents. Parents like me, that’s not unusual. I’m a good mix of witty and respectful, and I match dad-jokes and (nearly) always side with the parents in good-natured razzing of their child. Cool. This time was a little extreme, however. Within 72 hours of meeting them, Rob’s Dad brought me up—during Rob’s wedding—to dance with Rob and his Mom, during the mother/son dance. I did not ask for, joke about, or provoke this in any conscious way. I was just as surprised as anyone else when I got up there. After that, they called me son. I called them “mom” and “dad” respectively, and they whole-heartedly invited me for Christmas, with “the family.” It was a Kodak moment, to be sure. I didn’t think they were serious; they were very serious.

Riss and I went with Rob up to Cleveland for Christmas. We’ll post about the details of the trip in a different post, but I want to touch on a few things. This was my time ever in Ohio, so I had no idea what to expect, except cold. I knew it would be damn cold on Christmas in Cleveland.

I was welcomed with hugs and cheek kisses the same as Rob. They doted on me and cooked for me and treated me like family. Christmas eve was a small family Christmas with White Elephant for the nuclear family and aunts/cousins, a group of maybe 12. After they left, it was just us and we opened presents. Between Riss and Mom, I had just as many as anyone else. The gifts were heartfelt and wonderful. When I was growing up I remember getting a box of books. My mother told me, “I know you like to read, so I got you the biggest books I could find!” Now, I know her heart was in the right place, but these books were not from the same author, genre, anything. I recall one was a horticulture text book. No, this was different, these gifts were special to the person, and you could tell actual thought and effort went into them.

It snowed that day, and stuck, and was light and fluffy and wonderful. I had never had a white Christmas before. I’ve been in Chicago for 2 different Christmases, and New York in the middle of December, but I’ve never seen real snow. It was wonderful.  

Christmas day we went to Rob’s aunt’s house for the big family Christmas. There was food and drink and basketball. I chatted at length with family members I’d never met, and they treated me like one of the gang. Everyone that met me just accepted that I was there. Now I want to be clear this was not an “island of misfit toys” situation with everyone trying a stray and that’s normal. No, I was the only one not married or related, but it didn’t matter.

Aside from Christmas proper, mom and dad asked me embarrassing questions about my love life, about my hopes and dreams, about how I was feeling and what I thought. We got into an awkward conversation about religion. It was so different from what I’m used to. They seemed annoyed that I was on my laptop for the first day. In my experience, that’s what “family time” is: everyone staring at their respective screens, with the TV going, nobody speaking to each other, except to frequently ask a question about whatever movie is playing because they weren’t paying attention to that either. We played board cards. Mom put together a “prize board” with 15 envelopes with mystery prizes in them. This means we played at least 15 games over the course of the week.

I cried. This was what people remembered about Christmas. This is what the people “miss” when they grow up, and what everyone wants to recreate or rekindle with the family they make. This was what, at 31 years old, I finally understood.

In 2018 I’ve been to Spain and Paris. I’ve been in 2 weddings with great friends. I’ve been promoted and quit from a successful company. But all of that paled in comparison to the feels I got that week. It really was the most wonderful time of the year. Now as I head into 2018, I wonder how I’ll feel next year when it’s time for Christmas lights and wassel and all that bullshit. I’ll probably still hate the traffic, but I’ll have a new nostalgia to tap into. Wish me luck.

St Augustine: America's Oldest City

~Edd

During the sad sack that was my ill-fated trip to Pensacola, Riss was already planning our next stop. To get to Pensacola, FL from Wilmington, NC you have two options: Atlanta or Jacksonville, FL. On the way down we took Atlanta, and so we chose the Jacksonville route for our glorious return. For Riss’s honeymoon, her and Rob had gone to St. Augustine, which is a scant 30 miles south of—you guessed it—Jacksonville. Riss was pretty sure that I’d love the place, too, so she was determined to take me. Since I had turned down the job, was still unemployed, and honestly could use some cheering up, I agreed.

In order to maximize our St. Augustine time, we left Pensacola at 3AM after a super solid nap. On the way, we stopped at an all-night Whataburger. In college, I had a friend from south Georgia that told tales of Whataburger. When passing the sign, I remembered these stories, and knew that my time had come. For anyone that has never had or heard of Whataburger, do yourself a favor and go. I had a chorizo cheeseburger, Riss had a pretty dope patty melt, and they were both glorious!

We got into St Augustine at about 9:30AM. Sadly, hotel check-ins aren’t until 2PM, but the Old Town Trolley Tours start running at 9! Old Town runs a hop on/hop off route around the town, with new trolleys coming by every 15 minutes. We rode the entire route first, then hopped off at some of the stops we enjoyed the most, including a *FREE* tour and tasting at St Augustine Distillery. We also ate lunch at Prohibition Kitchen, a speak-easy style place with a fantastic grilled cheese and even better milkshakes (pro tip: get the
one with the booze.)

Stuffed and entertained, it was finally time to check into our hotel: The Ponce. They’re currently renovating, but that didn’t affect the room or the view, and it cut the rate way down. Midday naps are boss!

We woke up right before sundown. Riss wanted to see the Nights of Lights that Old Town does around Christmas. According to National Geographic, St. Augustine is one of the top 10 places to see holiday lights in the whole damn world. Source.  After doing the tour, I can see why. They even gave us glasses that refract the light and make the individual lights look like snowflakes. I’m a self-
proclaimed Grinch. Christmas isn’t really my bag, but sitting in the trolley, in 60-degree weather, seeing this already beautiful city lit up, that shit was magical. I’d say my heart grew three sizes that day, but I’m still a right bastard, so let’s not get ahead of ourselves. 

After getting off the light tour, we walked the 4 blocks back to the distillery. Upstairs from the distillery is the Ice Plant Bar and restaurant. We sat next to this incredibly memorable guy and his incredibly forgettable girlfriend. She was not impressed with his joie de vivre. We were impressed, both with his lust for life AND with the food, all farm-to-table super bourgeois and delicious. The cocktails are made with the liquor from the distillery. All-in-all, this is a good place and a great atmosphere.


We took an uber back to the hotel, slept well, and left the next morning after check-out. It was right at 24 hours that we spent in St Augustine, but the city left a very positive and lasting impression on me. I’ll definitely be back. I may even like Christmas lights, but just a little.

Slay, Santa, Slay!

~Riss

I love Christmas themed events. I have a whole bin dedicated to Christmas costumes: ugly sweaters, Santa hats, and elf ears galore. One event in particular has brought a smile to my face for the last few years: Santacon! If you have never been to a Santacon, then you are definitely missing out. Held in cities all over the world, 1,000s of drunk Santas take to the streets to sing, party, and confuse the hell out of normal people. The all-day bar crawls are not to be missed!

This year we joined the Virginia Beach Santacon for the second time. The organizers do a great job with updates and getting everyone hyped in the weeks leading up. There were 6 participating bars along the beach so plenty of options for the hoard of Santas. There were drink specials, karaoke, and even an after party with a performance by DJ Kool. This had everything a Santa could want. This event was free, as are most official Santacons, but there is usually a toy drive or food drive to start out the day, so don't forget to support the cause! Your donation helps offset how annoying you will inevitably be to sober people as the day goes on.

Now, Santacon is not for people who hate crowds. You have to get pretty cozy with your fellow Santas to make it to the bar to get a drink but that's a great chance to get to know the other crawlers.

Normally I am the more understated of my group, but this year I decided to go all out. I had my Jessica Rabbit sparkle gown left over from Halloween, and I'm never one to pass up a good outfit opportunity. So I pinned some fur on that bitch and I was instantly transformed into a Christmas queen. Wearing a full length gown to a giant bar crawl is a bit of a commitment but it's also a great conversation starter. From the first bar people asked for pics and throughout the day "Slay Santa, slay!" was yelled at me by other friendly and overly enthusiastic Santas.

While the gown required a bit of extra effort to get around I think I'll keep the costume at the top of my list. Whether it's a naughty or nice list has yet to be determined.

Pensacola: The Good, The Bad, and the Terribly Depressing

~Edd

I’m currently unemployed. It’s okay, I have savings—and an ever-growing sense of doom—and I’m taking the time to find a job that’s a right fit for the lifestyle I want to live. That’s incredibly hard, and yet more accessible than ever, these days. Over thanksgiving I was talking to my parents and my father said that the company he works for was looking for construction project managers. That’s pretty convenient, as I have an MBA in project management and a background in construction. The only catch is that the company is based out of Florida, so the vast majority of their jobs are down there.

Here’s the thing: I worked construction throughout college, and the two or so years following graduation. I had to move 6 times in two and half years, following the jobs the company sent me to. I had to start over, both professionally and socially, every single time. Nobody knew me, often not even my coworkers on the new projects. Since I changed paths I’ve put down roots, made friends, and come to love a place for the first time in nearly a decade. Am I ready to give that up for a job? The only way to know for sure was to go down and meet with them, see the area, and make my decision from there.

Pensacola ladies and gents

Pensacola, FL is 11 hours from Wilmington, NC. Riss offered to go with me, both to keep me company during the drive, and because she’d never been to Pensacola either and said “why the hell not?” The drive was just as long and boring as you can imagine. During the drive I’m thinking about making this drive regularly, and by myself. Both Pensacola and Wilmington are very small airports, so flights to/from start at over $400. My anxiety was mounting as we drove through Atlanta and down through Alabama, finally ending up at the very end of the panhandle at the self-proclaimed “Redneck Riviera.” My heart was all aflutter.

My father is working the same job site that I was supposed to meet with people, so I saved some money by just staying with him. My father can’t be called a “social butterfly” anything but sarcastically, but the place he’s staying takes the cake. As we’re pulling up Riss says, “It’s a good thing I already know you, because this driveway just screams ‘I’m going to murder you and nobody will ever know.’” Down there dad stays about 30 minutes outside
downtown Pensacola, in a—no lie—three bedroom, two bath house with 34 acres and 3 livings rooms. By himself. With no furniture. There was an 80’s style dining room table, his lazy-boy, a TV, and a bed. His alarm clock resides on a cardboard box next to his bed. Instead of curtains, he strung up blue tarps over the wall of windows in his bedroom because “the light was bothering him.”  To say it’s a bachelor pad does a disservice to self-respecting bachelors that don’t want to eat people. It was one newspaper-clipping-wall away from the lair the cops find in a CSI episode.

Pictured: The 11 hour snub

I went to talk to them the next morning. Everything had been arranged the week prior, and even my father had reminded them Friday before everyone left. I show up at the job site, find the poorly labeled office trailer and head inside. It’s empty, save for one guy who has no idea what I’m talking about. Great. Turns out the guy I was supposed to meet is in TEXAS and the 2^nd in command is in meetings nearly all day. Even better. I then do what anyone who drove eleven hours to get stood up at a job interview would do: I grabbed Riss and went to get brunch. Brunch was decent at The Ruby Slipper, a New Orleans style chain place that I’d never heard of with decent benedicts and overpriced, but strong, mimosas. I make some phone calls and leave some voicemails, and decide to use the time to explore the city.

The highlight of the trip was the Naval Air Museum, which is free and a really great place to visit. I could probably make an entire post just about it, but for now I’ll say that they have flight simulators, 4D movies, and planes from the invention of flight to now. I knew a surprising amount about the various planes. (Almost all my knowledge comes from video games. Who says they can’t make you smarter?) I’m sure I was entertaining to watch as I reached rain-man levels of knowledge about the various WWII crafts, forcing Riss to take my picture with several of them. On the way out I finally got a return call from the 2^nd in command and set up a time to meet him later that day.

In an effort at brevity, I turned down the job. Pensacola is not a place I see myself living for a year. It’s too far from the people I love. It would be starting over again, professionally and personally. After a year in Pensacola, I would be made to move to the next job, wherever that may be. I would have no “home base.” I’m a traveler. I love to see new things, live like the locals, and experience everything the world has to offer… But I need my “home base.” I know that Wilmington is a transition place, I seriously doubt I’ll be here forever, but the time to leave has not yet come.

I was talking to dad about this later that night. He said he understood, and that at the end of the day I need to do what makes me happy. I asked him during the conversation, “if you could go back and do it again, knowing what you know now, what would you do?” You know what his answer was? “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.” I was confused. I pressed, “Well what did you want to do growing up?” He said, “I never knew anything else.” My dad is one of the most intelligent people I’ve met, and not because he’s my dad. He’s also hard working, honest, and dependable. He also has never had a dream. He’s old enough to join AARP, and he’s never had lofty goals, passions, something to strive towards. He’s a worker ant, droning on in a job that I know makes him miserable, because “that’s all he knows.” I cried that night. Riss asked me the last time I saw him get excited or hopeful about something. I have a 2^nd-hand story of him being excited to take a photo with Goofy in Disney World, but that story is 2^nd-hand and from 1996. As far as hobbies, dad likes to work on the farm. He seems to actually enjoy the time he spends out with his tractor, but that's about it.

On the way back from Pensacola we took the southern route, up through Jacksonville, FL. St. Augustine is only 30 miles south, so we spent the night there. It was amazing, and went a long way towards cheering me up. St. Augustine will get its own post, soon.

This is not a “follow your dreams” bullshit call to action. That kind of Disney Princess, feel-good crap is why we are a generation of barely employable liberal arts majors with no skills, writing blogs in coffee shops hoping to get paid doing it. (Yes, I understand the irony of that statement, that’s why I made it.) This is saying, know what you’re worth. Have a dream. Know if that dream is just a pipe-dream, but have it anyway. A kid that’s only 5’1” and has no coordination is not going to be a professional basketball player. A person with no sense of timing or rhythm won’t be a drummer. Face reality, but find something that you love. Find something that makes you happy and fucking do it. Hobbies exist for a reason. Volunteer if you want to help people. Join meetup groups and find like-minded people and get out there and LIVE dammit.

Cleveland: Part 1

~Riss

I've always lived in the south. I've seen snow very few times and always in small amounts. I don't like the cold and the cold doesn't like me. I messed up and fell in love with a boy from Ohio. Then I messed up BIG and I married him, which means that my family has recently gotten bigger and NOW I have to head north for holidays. You know the holidays right, the cold part of the year? Our first visit up north was last year and a bit of a cluster. Rob did the "planning" and apparently his plan was to wing it. It did not go smoothly. Without a real plan, overall it was a rather dull trip. I did not leave with the best impression of Ohio, but I wanted to give it another shot. Robs family lives only 25 minutes outside of Cleveland (Don't ask me why we didn't go last time) and we decided to take full advantage of Cleveland on this trip.

We drove up the day before thanksgiving. Unfortunately this was peak holiday traffic so our 9 hour drive took about 12 hours. I was determined not to let this dampen my holiday spirit. Thanksgiving was a fun day of food and family, the usual. One of Robs family members offered us hockey tickets for the next day. It was in this city, so this seemed like a good focal point for our Cleveland exploration. Before that game, the only thing I knew about hockey was the Mighty Ducks, so it was a totally new experience for me.

West Side Market in all its glory!

After the game, we said goodbye to the parents and headed out on our own. We started at the West Side Market. The market was all one big hall, full of an eclectic group of people, selling all sorts of tasty goods. We stopped at a bakery and were overwhelmed with all the great choices available. We ended up getting three different items, just because we couldn't decide. After leaving the market to enjoy our treats, we explored the area for a while on foot. There were breweries and gastropubs galore. The area had a very old world meets hipster vibe to it. I couldn't decide on anything around us that I wanted to eat, there were so many choices. I had a craving for Asian food so I looked up the options in the area, thanks Google! There were fantastic reviews about a Korean BBQ place inside of the Asian plaza. We decided to give it a try. Its a couple miles away from the market, so we hopped in the car and were off.

Rob was unfamiliar with the area and our GPS seemed confused with the directions. 20 minutes and only 3 miles later, we finally arrived at a dimly lit gravel parking lot outside a large building. There were banners for several Asian business inside but the building itself was a little...ominous. We walked up the dark ramp to the automatic d
oors and walked through not really knowing what to expect. Waiting inside was a very pleasant surprise. There was a large Asian market and numerous businesses downstairs and a large staircase leading to our restaurant. We were seated and ordered a hot pot and entree to split. Our food came out and covered the entire table. The smell filled the booth.

The restaurant filled up around us during our meal and when we left the other side of the parking lot was bow lit which added a lot of comedy to our arrival concerns. After dinner we stopped for a Great Lakes Christmas Ale which is a fantastic seasonal from the Great Lakes Brewing company. We called it a night kinda early, but I would definitely count it as a successful date night.

Our final day of the holiday break started with some holiday shopping. We are planning a cold Christmas trip (yippee...) so I needed some real shoes for the journey. I'm from Georgia, and I live in coastal North Carolina, so I don't own winter shoes. My dumb ass will happily wear flip flops for 90% of the year. I felt like a child learning how to keep warm in colder temps. I eventually settled on a pair of boots and even though I may not be mentally ready for the cold I am at least one step closer to being physically ready.

After a little family-time we all head out to pick out a Christmas tree from a local lot and then head to Sokolowski's University Inn for dinner. It's a Polish place with a line around the building. I had never actually had Polish food before; so for the tenth time this trip, I'm not really sure what to expect. The line weaves all the way through the building once finally inside. There is a bar in the middle of the wait, which is convenient for making the hour-plus-wait bearable. We make it to the front of the line and the wait was definitely worth it. Periogis are magical little pouches of happiness and I am sad I just learned of their existence!

This time in Ohio was a polar opposite from my first visit. I set my expectations low, but now I'm excited to go back for Christmas. My to-do list is long and I think Cleveland has a lot more to show me. I'll be back for you, periogis!

Jingle Balls, Jingle Balls, Nerdy All the Way!

~Riss 

It's Christmas! Eddie and Rob are likely to bahumbug for the next month. Eddie moreso than Rob; I'm pretty sure he was the original inspiration for the Grinch. Regardless, I'm gonna celebrate anyway, so woohoo!

I decided to kick off the holiday season by inviting some friends over and making some ornaments. I've never painted ornaments before, but I'm always down for craft time. I went to JOANN fabrics and picked up a 25 pack of plastic ornaments for $9.99. I also grabbed an acrylic paint set for $12.99. Joann's has a great app and they always have fantastic coupons on there. 

After throwing in a couple coupons and tax I walked out for just under $18. I used some palettes from the dollar tree that came 6 for a dollar. So for under $20 we had the stuff for 25 ornaments. My friends and I winged it on a few. After a few snowflakes and basic stuff, I turned to my myriad of fandoms for inspiration on the rest. People tell me I watch too much TV, but I showed them! Eddie attempted to make one but gave up about halfway through. He may be many things but crafty is not one of them.
After they dried, I simply sprayed a clear coat of Modge Podge on the ornaments to protect the paint and the finished product is ready for the tree! Pictured are a few of our favorites.

Top: Wolverine, "Ho Ho Hodor", Kirby, TARDIS
Middle: Jack Skellington, Rocky Horror Lips, Stranger Things, Harry Potter, Baby Groot
Bottom: Buffy, (non fandom) Bird, Grinch, Boo, Sunflower

Alastor

~Edd

Most posts we do are for you. Sure we’re pandering to our own egos, but we genuinely thinks the things we say and do will be interesting, insightful, or at least entertaining for you, the audience. This one is for me.

My cat, Alastor, died this morning. It was unexpected. I woke up at about 7:30 AM, because he was meowing for me to feed him, as usual in the morning. I woke up, fed him, and went back to sleep. He was fine, and normal: Purring, bumping my hand out of the way when I put his food down like he was starving to death… fat little bastard. Around 11:30 AM my roommate wakes me up and says, “Eddie… I think Alastor passed away.” He was already stiff. There was nothing around his mouth, no injuries, nothing to indicate how he died. He had been eating fine, and acting completely normal… until he wasn’t acting at all.

I went to home depot and bought a shovel. That was one of the most melancholy drives I’ve taken in a long time. I came back and buried him in the back yard. The soundtrack to the movie The Fountain played while I dug a grave. It was overly dramatic and macabre, but fuck it. I was sad.

Named after the Harry Potter character, Alastor “Mad Eye” Moody was the one-eyed, ginger cat that I rescued about a year ago. Nobody knew at the rescue how he lost his eye, so I said he lost it in the Wizarding Wars, and that “you should see the other guy.” He spent the first 3 weeks with me under my bed, and the next 3 months jumping at shadows. After that, he got fat and it was constant tail-up happiness. He got to the point where he would approach strangers and was curious, not frightened, of visiting people and animals. He was happy. He was perfect.

I got Alastor because I wanted to help. Several days prior, Riss and Rob left my place, and called a little after and said that there was a cat with no face outside, it was a weird conversation.  Later that day I left for whatever reason, and the cat was still there. It was sitting, bread loaf style, facing away from traffic in the very middle of the street. I pulled up next to it, my tire literally about 8 inches from it. It didn’t move. I made some noises behind it, still it didn’t move. Then I reached out to touch it. When I touched its back, it turned its head to me and my heart died. Its face was gone, probably rotted away from a wound or something. It made a noise. Not a cry, or a hiss, more like a despondent and resigned sigh. I had intended to help the cat, or get it to move, but looking at it, and it “looking” at me, I realized it had chosen this place to die. It hoped to get hit by a car and end it. I nodded, knowing it didn’t see me, but I wanted it to know I understood and respected its decision. I drove away and tried to call animal control, shelters, the sheriff, 911. They were either closed or didn’t care. Nobody could help this faceless and pitiful creature. I came back later and the cat wasn’t where I had left him. I found it on the crosswalk not far from where it was before. It had gotten its wish.  I cried.

Purrfection

I’m gonna be really candid for a second, and tell you that this shit fucked me up. I had dreams about this poor cat. I thought about it for days. There was nothing I could do to help it, but I wanted to help. I looked online at some of the cat rescues in town, and what is the first damn cat I see? A one-eyed orange cat named Archie. It was like a sign. I couldn’t save the no-eyed cat, but I could save this one-eyed one, and that was a start. I met him, and was told that he hated to be held, and he was super skittish. After we coaxed him out and I had tentatively played with him for a bit, I picked him up and talked to him. He stressed for about 3 seconds, then relaxed into me. He knew what I was about. We had a mutual respect.

Alastor was derpy, and bossy, and fat, and I loved him very much. He was sweet, and loving, and only stank sometimes. He was the loudest purring cat I’ve ever met, and all it took was looking in his direction to set it off. His claws were sharp, but he hated them to be clipped, and my GOD did he shed! Everything I own has an orange patina. He would always rub up against my legs when I was still wet from the shower, so the inside of all my pants are fur-lined. He had zero chill, and would routinely watch me in the bathroom. I felt bad that I was gone a lot, but he was always happy to see me when I returned.  I have no idea how he died, but he didn’t seem to be sick, or in pain, or anything. He never complained about anything unless I was slow with his food. But I do know that he was loved, and he had a happy home, and that’s enough, I guess. I’ll miss you buddy.

Turducken: The Reason for the Season.

~Edd

Ah, Turducken: The meal, the myth, the legend. A turkey, stuffed with a duck, stuffed with a chicken. Rarely is humanity's victory and mastery over nature so clearly depicted. The hubris of it!  Last year we bought one, and it was delicious, but we wanted more. We needed to make one! I know what you're thinking: This post should've come before Thanksgiving so we can emulate you and your Meta-fowl escapades! Sorry, we were busy making a franken-bird.

*Disclaimer* If you're not a cook, but want to experience this marvel of culinary engineering, you can purchase them online and have them shipped. Occasionally you can find them around this time of year in grocery stores, also. A turducken roll is a few pounds of stuffed breast meat(s) and will typically run you about $40. Whole birds can easily be more than $100.

We were at Aldi, as most good stories start.
Rob and Riss looked at turkeys, along with the cart.
I have a deficit of attention, it's not something I've chosen,
So away I wandered, over to food that is frozen.
And what did I see with my little eye?
Cornish hens and whole ducks that were piled quite high!
The lightbulb went off. This idea was the best!
We'll make a turducken for our Friendsgiving Fest!
With a gobble, a cluck, and one mighty quack!
$35 later, we had our Turducken starter-pack.

When you cook this rare beast, one thing, it is known
The first thing to do is remove all the bones.
Riss and I took turns mangling the fowl.
Then rebuilding our monstrosity, with stuffing and trowel.
A small Cornish Hen is the bird we first cut
Mistakes here don't matter, since it's deep in the gut.
The duck lost her bones, as well as her skin.
Duck skin is too greasy to leave it within.
Then on to the gobbler, the largest of our birds.
The reality of this dish was becoming absurd.

Our stuffing was easy, simply sausage, onion, bread crumb,
Plus one handful of sage, measured pinky to thumb.
Mixed in a bowl, with a dash of broth for wetness.
This went between the layers of our meaty greatness.
Then once it was full, we stitched it back up!
This epic mountain of bird, it surely was stuffed!
Riss saw it was nude, a risk that can't be taken.
So she made it a bikini made entirely of bacon.
Between all the birds, we had so much gravy.
Why just thinking of it, makes my brain kind've hazy.

Bacon Bikinis: Because anything less would be lewd.

We went out drinking on Friendsgiving eve.
Returning at 2, which was great timing indeed.
Straight to the oven went our feast of Turducken,
Where it was all but ignored, for we were quite drunken.
No brining, no basting, no tending did it get.
But that's not a problem, the inside was still wet.
Sausage stuffing and duck are both a touch greasy,
Which means keeping the meat moist is really quite easy!
Just 200 degrees, for nearly 12 hours.
And when it was eaten, guests said we had powers!

So that is the story of our Friendsgiving Feast!
For questions and details, leave comments at least.

The Sanctity of What?

~Rob

So, I'm happily married. But you know that by now, as roughly half of these posts so far are about my wedding. I'm extremely happily married. I love my wife with everything I have, and will readily volunteer that information to every single person I come in contact with. At work, I randomly sigh out loud, and say "Man, I love my wife." No prompting, no context, just love. It's extremely irritating to co-workers, fyi. I routinely drive 500 miles round trip just to spend a few hours with her. No one can doubt my commitment. That is, unless I'm dressed in a Penguin onsie as a part of a bar crawl with some friends. Then apparently I look super ready to mingle. I'm not, but the penguin is a natural aphrodisiac. We began the bar crawl at a very cool taproom, known as Pour. If you want to hear more about Pour, we reviewed it here.

Something you should know about me going forward: I have absolutely no clue if women are hitting on me. Any time it happens, I just think "Wow, this lady is really nice. Maybe she'll like Carissa, too". In retrospect, she probably wouldn't.

So there we all are, dressed in our fuzzy outfits. I go to fetch a beer from one of the many taps, and some lady approaches me and begins talking to me. I think nothing of it, fully concerned with my beer, when my wife approaches. At this point the lady immediately turned away, and I continued about my night, still oblivious. Later, my wife mentioned that the lady had been giving her dirty looks from that point on. This was the last time my marriage would be respected or acknowledged for the rest of the night.

Pictured: Pure Sex

Eventually we make it to a crowded place that does karaoke on weekends. This is where things took a turn for the worst. At one point, I go to the bar to fetch some liquid singing juice. A woman in her mid-40's approaches me and strikes up a conversation. And by conversation, I mean she begins rubbing my chest. No warning, no permission, just a cougar \vigorously rubbing my pecs through my fuzzy penguin pajamas. Taking offense, I tell her that I'm sorry, but I'm married. She keeps rubbing and says "It's okay, I'm not doing anything wrong, right?". FUCKING YES, YOU ARE. BITCH, SWERVE. I move on down the bar.

Now, I know what you're thinking. "Maybe he's just overreacting. They weren't possibly as horrid and thirsty as all that." At one point I stopped a girl and, once again, said that sorry, but I have a wife. She responded immediately: "That's fine, I have a boyfriend. Who cares?" DO YOU EVEN HEAR YOURSELF?! I AM VERY CLEARLY MARRIED AND YOU HAVE A DAMN BOYFRIEND! Seriously, if even I can tell you're hitting on me, you're trying way too hard.

My pajamas of choice have a tail on the back, as penguins do. I'm nothing if not particular about the anatomical accuracy of my jammies. This tail however, quickly became the scourge of my evening. Women felt the need to grab it, pull it, aggressively fondle it, and use it as an excuse to touch my butt. It genuinely made no difference that I literally waved my ring in their face. At one point, I broke all sense of propriety and politeness and told a woman, "Look, my wife is six feet tall and will beat you. Leave me and my tail alone". My threat was hollow but at no point throughout my evening did any of this stop.

What happened to the sanctity of marriage? Are millennials over-sexualizing penguins? I haven't a clue, apparently. What I do know is this: if you plan to wear a penguin onsie out in public, prepare for the repercussions. And more importantly, I know that I believe in marriage. It is still very much real for me, and I don't think it is acceptable to hit on married men or women. And not just that, it isn't
acceptable to aggressively hit on and touch people after they ask you to stop.  I was sexually harassed literally all night and there is a certain amount of humor because I was obviously in zero danger but the lack of respect for another person is disappointing.

Fears of a Fat Bride

~Riss

Most people talk about their upcoming wedding day with excitement. I was not one of those people. I mean, I was excited to marry the love of my life and I was excited to spend the day celebrating with my best friends. There was one huge dark cloud hanging over my head, though, and that was the pictures. As a size 24, plus size woman I was terrified that I would look like the world's fanciest sack of potatoes no matter how hard I tried. Don't get it twisted...I don't think I am ugly by any means, this isn't a "woe is me" post. I can take a selfie like nobody's business, but it usually feels like I've got nine chins and a fivehead when someone else takes the photo.

Pictured: Expectations

I absolutely loved the dress I wore on my wedding day. I'd love to take credit for picking it, but I can't. I wanted to be cheap and "more sensible" because I was convinced it wouldn't make a difference in the pictures, just another potato sack. Rob on the other hand thinks that I can wear anything and had the dream of me wearing what he called "a big beautiful princess dress." Since I had no real attachment to a style, I figured I would at least entertain his vision. I didn't have many options in Wilmington, NC. The samples in my size were usually very limited and many were a bit
dated. I went with friends to try things but felt a little embarrassed by my lack of options and overwhelmed by their opinions on how I should look. This didn't help my confidence in the matter. David's bridal had the most selection, but the quality of the dress would have called for numerous added costs including alterations, custom corsets or extra length orders. The potato fear was alive and well.

Pictured: Reality

I was alone in a nearby town when I found the dress. Rob was at a Silkies Hike in Jacksonville, N.C and I had time to kill. I stopped in Classics and began to rummage through dozens of beautiful and modern gowns (in my size!). The first one I picked up made my face light up. I had wanted to try this particular style since my search began but couldn't find one in my size.
My expectations were set low as I wiggled into the dress. There was no dressing room mirror so I had go out and stand in front of the large triple mirror. The second I stepped into the pedestal my heart started pounding. I had minimal makeup and messy hair but when I looked at that mirror I felt like a princess. I took pics and walked away that day, but it haunted me for weeks until I came back for it. Rob drove me there, demanding I buy a dress he had never seen just because he had seen the look on my face when I talked about it. Sometimes I need an extra push.

Two of my bridesmaid are very talented cosmologists. They were doing my hair and my makeup for the wedding. They know exactly what I like and are very, very capable of making my dream a reality. At this point, I'm still convinced I won't like my pictures.

With the wedding on a cruise ship, I am aware that once I get on the ship I have done all that I can do. It's a freeing feeling in many ways. No super-last-minute shopping or mind-changing allowed. I have what I have. It's locked in, final answer. But what if I forget something? What if I need something and it's not there?

This is my 'brave face'

I built my confidence up as much as possible the days before the wedding but that all comes crashing down the morning of the big day. After dreaming that my front teeth fell out in my sleep, I awake nervous as Harvey Weinstein at a Women's Rights rally. My girls are ready to go with breakfast and mimosas and we jump right in. Having multiple people primping me only for dozens more to take photos of me is my worst nightmare but I try to put on a brave face. Unfortunately my acting skills are lacking. The mimosas helped.

Minutes before I'm set to leave we complete the final touches on my look. I've never been overly emotional or romantized my wedding day but the first time I looked in the mirror completely put together, I saw myself the way Rob always describes me. I made my shaky way down to my entrance and as my grandfather takes my arm to walk my down the aisle, my fears just melt away. I'm not worried about how I look or what it will look like in photos.. I'm just overwhelmingly happy. I feel the love in the room, and I see the love in his eyes, and I walk toward him. This is the only thing that matters. I'm so happy after the ceremony that I pay very little attention to all the photos we pose for. The pre-mimosas have also fully kicked in so I'm feeling a lot looser. We have photos before and after the ceremony. The after ones are a bit more turnt than we had originally planned, but everything was fun. The weight of the wedding was lifted and I felt 50 pounds lighter.

A day later we received a notice that our photos are ready to view. I've told myself that, by this point, hating the photos will just save me a ton of money anyway. I tell myself, "I had a great time and I'll have that forever. That's good enough." I sit down, fully braced to see dozens of unflattering photos of my happy day. I was wrong. I was wrong in so many ways. I loved every photo more than the last. I didn't look perfect in them, but I looked beautiful. My smiles were real and you could feel our love coming through the image. I realized how foolish I had been for the hell I had put myself through worrying about looking "perfect."
I was happy and it showed. The only downside to the entire ordeal was how much it cost us to buy everything. Since that day, I've taken many more less than perfect photos. It helped in ways I never expected. Happiness is beautiful and it was a hard lesson to learn.

Pretty Fly for a Fat Guy: The Importance of Pants

~Edd

In this episode of Pretty Fly for a Fat Guy, I learn a valuable lesson about pride versus reality.
So let me start with a question: how many of you are excited with going up a clothing size? Literally nobody? Alright, thought so.
Throughout my childhood, my mother always told me that my pants should fit at my natural waist. [Correct] She then proceeded to buy pants that did that, but sat about an inch above my ankle. [Incorrect] So I started wearing my pants lower to compensate, right under my childlike potbelly. This became habit, and right up until yesterday, this is how I wore my pants. There are come pros and cons of this.
Pro: My waist is significantly larger than the pant sizes you'll see at your average department store, so wearing them low means I can actually find pants.
Con: Wearing your pants too low results in plumbers' crack. We've all seen it, and the image cannot be scrubbed from our brains. It's an epidemic that plagues fat guys everywhere.
Pro: Finding an appropriately sized belt is also way easier.
Con: Sagging your pants super low causes what I like to call "dumpy butt." This is where the seat of your pants sags down, robbing you of a butt, and making it look like you took a dump in your shorts.

It looks like a weight loss photo, but it's just the pants!

 Apparently, wearing your pants below your stomach accentuates your stomach.
The top row shows the pants that I was wearing that day, where I've been wearing them for years. The bottom row is a much larger waist size, worn where they're SUPPOSED to be.
Riss had a hard time convincing me to go up that many sizes. I fought it tooth and nail. "I've never been that big," I whined, and other such bullshit excuses. Then I tried a pair that she gave me, and I said to myself, "self, you look damn fine." Trick was right...
I was so ashamed to go up to a real size, that I was making myself look, and feel, bigger. By sucking up my pride and buying the appropriate pair of pants for my body, I made a HUGE difference. As you can see from the picture, it smoothed out my lines, reduced the appearance of my stomach, and completely got rid of my muffin tops.
The pants I wore were 42x32, then pants I bought were Lee Extreme Motion, Straight Fit, size 48x42. The shirt is a Saddlebred 2XL (Long) botton-down collar shirt, and the sweater is a Chaps Cotton Mockneck 2X regular. Everything was purchased at Belk Big and Tall.

Pretty Fly for a Fat Guy

Intro

I'm gonna face facts: I'm not hot, and I never will be. I'm not saying I'm ugly, I'll just never have the traits that men need in this modern era to be classified as "hawt." I'll never have a chiseled jaw line, or 6 pack abs, or the little V line at your waist that says you're in great shape. I'll never have these because I don't intend to dedicate the time that they require. My lifestyle does not match with the amount of time and energy it would take to get "shredded." I like food too much to only eat the lean chicken and whey powder my diet would call for.

This was me in High School. You're welcome, ladies.

I'm 6'4", currently over 300 lbs. I'm a big dude. I'm working on that, but it takes time, and I'll never not be a big dude. So, knowing in my heart of at-risk-hearts that I won't look great with my clothes off, I like to look as good as possible with my clothes on. I haven't always thought this way. High school Edd wore silk dragon shirts, cargo pants, and literal rose-colored glasses. It was a dark time.
In college, Riss and another friend took me shopping. They made me get "outfits" and things that "matched" and didn't look "awful." What a nightmare that was! But then I got used to it, and I liked the way it looked, and then I went further, buying suits, and fancy socks, and ties, and shirts that fit, and fashionable shoes. It's a slippery slope. I may never be hot, but I can at the very least be stylish.
It's not easy being a stylish fat guy. The largest shirt you can find in department stores is a 2X, sometimes. The largest pants you can find is around a 40x32. And I'm saying you can FIND them, but not that they'll have anything resembling selection or variety. They're also going to cost extra much of the time, a fat tax. And if you're bigger than that, or it doesn't fit right? Good luck. You're relegated to awkward cuts, fewer choices, and/or tight, poorly-fitted clothing.
Lately I've seen a lot of body-positive stories surrounding plus-sized female models. This is great news, because it means that companies will finally start designing for plus-sized women, which has been a major issue for a long time. For the time being, big dudes still don't have that representation, so for now, we wait. The struggle is real.
Recently, I've discovered some things that help me stay ahead of the game, stay stylish. In this series I'll take you through the trials and tribulations of being a stylish fat guy, with tips, tricks, and photos.

Review: Empanada Harry's

~Edd

On the way down to the Port of Miami for the Cruise, I stopped at Empanada Harry’s in the West Kendall area of Miami. In a strip mall next to a questionable TexMex place and a Crossfit gym, I was skeptical, but the Google reviews were solid, so we gave it a try. I’m so glad we did! They have empanadas in the style of at least 5 different countries, croquetas, cachapas, arepas, pastries, and specialty coffees. The staff was fast and friendly, and the food was excellent! I ordered 2 empanadas, a cheese twist thing, and a cappuccino. It was $11. These were the best empanadas I’ve had possibly ever, and the coffee was great! 

Taste

4.5 out of 5.0

Price

4.0 out of 5.0

Final Verdict

4.0 out of 5.0

"Adults" at Dinner

On the first night of our cruise, one of the guys with us (who is 34 fucking years old) decided it would be fun/funny to throw bread at a different wedding guest at a different table during dinner. That shit's not cool, so I made him pick it up in front of everyone,  because 1) That's not how adults act at a nice dinner with cloth napkins, and 2) the wait staff will have to pick that shit up and let's not make their thankless job any worse by being assholes. Cheers and laughs and applause.
On the 6th night of our cruise, a groomsman comes to my table and hands me a chunk of bread and says that Guest A is throwing bread again. I stand up, breaking the bread into 2 little pieces as I do, and go over to the bread thrower. He's wearing a hat, so I take it off his head, put a piece of bread in it, and put it back on his head. "This is for being a child and throwing bread, again." Laughs and applause. I then go to the groomsman and do the same to him. "This is for tattling." More laughs and applause.
Morals of the story?
1. Public shaming is an acceptable form of punishment, and fun at any age
2. Snitches get stitches
3. Too bad I don't want kids, or else I'd make a decent parent.

The Fair: Amusement Parks for People that are Bad at Math

~Riss

The N.C. State fair!
I have always wanted to go to a big fair. I love the bright lights and terrible food. Fair food has always teetered on the line between genius and insanity, and I gotta respect that. Should we fry everything? Definitely not, but goddammit we're gonna try! I'm also severely distracted by bright lights and I have a tendency to wander away towards whatever is shiniest. In theory, a fair should be amazing for me but I should really be on an adult version of a child leash because of the ADD-fat-kid that I am deep in my soul.
Since October was such a busy month for us, I was sure I'd have no time for the fair this year, but plans on a Saturday got cancelled and within 15 minutes I was on the fair's website checking out options. The N.C. State fair offers special deals if you buy your ride tickets in advance. Because of this, it was only $25 for unlimited ride wristbands. It sounded like too good of an opportunity to throw away, so I texted the troops and everyone ordered tickets. I was so pumped! I was finally going to the fair, the weather was nice, and my best friends had the same weekend off. It was a recipe for success!
Flash Foward....turns out I do not like big fairs. Don't get me wrong, we had a great time...but then again, if you put me at the DMV with the right people I'll have a good time. Let's take a second and go over how our adventure went downhill.

On Bacon-wrapped
wings of paraffin

We drove from Wilmington to Raleigh with no issue. Finally, we got 1.5 miles from the fairgrounds and we hit standstill traffic. It took about 20 minutes to inch the mile to the parking areas. Parking was a bit of a nightmare, but we finally found an open lot and $10 later it's go time. It's about a half mile walk to the entrance, where we have to buy our admission tickets because apparently admission is not included with our unlimited rides. There was very little in
the way of direction to figure out where things were, once inside. The smell of fair food got us quickly. I made a beeline for the turkey legs and grab one to split with Rob, while Eddie decided to go the adventurous route. He settled on a bacon wrapped grilled cheese. He loved it, but I definitely say it's a sign that we, as a society, are flying far too close to the sun.
The crowds started to get a little overwhelming, but as the day went on, it went from "a little crowded" to "black Friday in the late 90s". There were just too many people and lines were getting out of hand. The quality of the people in the crowd began to take a turn for the worst as well. Disturbingly uneducated arguments and vapes began to surround us.

It was dark by this point, and the teenagers had come out of the woodwork. While in line for the neato-spinning-super-fun-ride whatever, Edd and Madz visibly aged. Edd had time to use the restroom, which was a bit of a hike, and return before the line moved once. Rob and I were able to get food.... twice. This didn't even make a dent in their wait. Literally an hour later, they were at the part of the line that actually had a roped off queue: the home stretch. Edd, being a giant chicken, and now too old to ride the ride, had decided sit it out, even though he'd waited his whole life just to get this far. It was tragic. With Madz in charge, no less than a half-dozen tweens cut in line in front of her. Being Canadian, she was too forgiving. From start to finish, the ride lasted 1 hour, 36 minutes, and 15 seconds. 1:15 of that involved Madz strapped in a chair being spun in the air. You do the math.

This is the face of bravery

About halfway through Madz and Edd's Lord of the Rings length journey, I decided that I was determined to get in one final ride: the Ferris wheel. Rob was not even close to excited about this decision due to his crippling fear of heights, but, like a fool, he loves me so he didn't fight my enthusiasm. We waited for about 40 minutes, but as we drew closer to the ride my bravery started to waiver. I am also afraid of heights, but I had just spent the last 20 minutes talking a big game, so i refused to let Rob see me sweat. We got a text from our counterparts after they had finally gotten to the end of their wait and told them to run to meet us so we could all ride together. This was a mistake we would all (except for Edd) very shortly regret.
We loaded into the bucket, immediately realizing that we are all a big taller than the average rider. We were a bit cramped sharing our space, but the gravity of the situation didn't hit until we began to move. The Ferris wheel creaked and swung as we were lifted in the air, giving us much more of an adrenaline rush than I think the designers had originally intended. During the ride, we all recovered quickly, except for Rob, who was white-knuckled and pale-faced, clinging to the center pole for dear life. Edd laughed at Rob the whole time, while remaining as motionless as possible. Nobody was allowed to move, for fear the motion would pitch us all to our deaths, or so Rob thought. Eventually the ride ended, as most rides do, and Rob fled from the bucket leaving a puff of smoke behind him.
After we coaxed him from his hiding place, we decided it was best to leave our fair adventure on a high note and call it a night. I don't regret my time at the fair, but between entry fees, ride wristbands, expensive food and time spent not riding things due to the overcrowding, I think I'll stick to amusement parks from now on.

D&D: Sgt Snookums and his lost love.

~Edd
As I wrote about here, I put together an infinitely fun and nerdy Dungeons & Dragons game for the "Battle Party." Since literally half the party had never played before, and some I don't think can even properly roll a die, I wanted to streamline things a bit. This took a lot of planning. First, I thought of the story, which I'll put below. Then I made the characters. This was easier than you'd think. One of the groomsmen is into DnD more than the others, so I made him the cleric. The others, I made two heavy armored "tanks," two crossbow wielding "scouts," and the rest were 2-handed weapon fighters. Using a PDF character sheet found online, it was easy to make the template characters and just fill in the details. With the exception of the cleric, whose spells were already chosen for the day and written out, everyone was a basic level 8 fighter, with different feats based on what they used. I made a spreadsheet with everyone's important stats, like attack and damage, AC (armor class), and the like. Each player had only the dice they needed for their character. Then, when it's time to play, the player just told me what they wanted to do, and I said "Ok, roll the dice and tell me what it says." Then I would check their dice roll against the spreadsheet, and describe what happened. It made for a much faster game with less "learning curve" and allowed their choices and roll-playing to shine through rather than getting bogged down in rules. My example spreadsheet is below.

Planning makes life so much easier

The 8th bell of the morning tolled, as the group slowly roused itself from a deep, if a bit loud, slumber. Today was the day, the occasion for a party last night, and the reason for the collective headache the seven men felt this morning. Seven hardy dwarfs, in various stages of dress and coherency, slowly got to their feet, washing faces in basins, eating the leftover food from the festivities of the previous night, and enjoying a little hair of the dog to take the edge off; even dwarfs have their limits after all. Today was the day that Sergeant Snookums would wed the love of his life. He was ready.

Looking around the room, Snookums saw the men he trusted most in the world. Frank the Tank and Dakken: heavy men with heavy shields, they were entrusted to guard the life of the groom. The inseparable lovers Ginger Princess and Chocolate Thunder: brothers to the end, their long hammers could often be heard pounding the staves of the mining tracks they constructed in the neighboring tunnels near the town. The scouts, Leviathon and Claytoris: lithe for dwarfs and masters of the crossbow. He could think of no better men to escort him down the alter.

Other than muted grumbles at this early hour, Snookums was the first to speak. "Brothers, the time has arrived. Let us go and fetch my bride." With grins, nods, and a few uncouth jibes, the group was off. Moments later, the bride's house was in view, but something was off. The door to the house was askew, and there could be seen a few articles of clothing scattered in front. Claytoris, and Leviathon, keen of eye, saw the disturbance first, and rushed into the house, crossbows out, while the others waited outside. Returning, Claytoris gave his report, "Snookums, I'm afraid she is taken. There are signs of a struggle, and I smell the stink of goblin, as well as orc. I saw no blood, so I believe she was taken unharmed."

Sergeant Snookums fumed with a burning rage. "They will be lucky if she is unharmed, but it will not spare them their lives for this." He looked at his friends, "Come, let's get the Captain and find her. We have a wedding to attend!"

In the center of the town of Wilmingheim lies the great forge. Here the clerics of Torag, Master Smith of all things, worship and create. It is here they found Captain Bamba hard at work at the forge. Each beat of the hammer and quench of the metal a prayer to the Father of the Dwarven race. He noticed their approach, and wiped his large hands on his leather apron, "Good morrow, lads. You are earlier than I expected!  Anxious to get to it, eh?" It was then that he noticed their grim expressions. "What's wrong?" As he was told what they had seen, his normally gentle expression changed. There is a saying among scholars: There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man. Captain Bamba nodded, "I heard there have been signs of orcs and goblins in the caves east of here. They are likely that way. Gather your weapons, men, and meet me at the Bride's home. We begin our search there."

It did not take them long to find the trail. The scouts taking the lead, they made good time. Dwarfs see perfectly well in the darkness, so there was no need for torch or lamp to light their way. Goblins are disgusting wretches, even as far as the evils of the Underdark go, and they all but leave a trail of filth where they go. After nearly a bell, Leviathan motioned for a halt, and silence. He and Claytoris climbed a small rise ahead of them and saw what they had come for: two goblin sentries guarding the mouth of a cave ahead. They looked at each other for a brief moment, nodded, and raised their crossbows. In unison, two bolts streaked through the air. One found purchase in the throat of the goblin to the left, a slight gurgle the only sound that ever came from the creature. The second went through the leg of the other, pinning it solidly to the ground. Before a fully formed word could escape its lips, Ginger Princess had covered the distance with noteworthy speed and grabbed the goblin, stifling it's cries and holding it fast.

"You would do well to tell us where they took the woman," Claytoris said to the creature in its own language. The others approached cautiously. When it stopped struggling, Claytoris nodded to Ginger Princess.

Ginger Princess slowly removed the massive mitt covering most of the goblin's small features. "You are too late, dwarf! Your female is already a sacrifice to the Blood God!" The goblin hissed his words in the common tongue, so as to be understood by all. A defiant look on its face, the goblin squeaked as Ginger Princess snapped its neck and allowed it to unceremoniously drop to the dirt. The cleric, Captain Bamba, emerged from the cave, "They definitely went this way.  Come, we must make haste!"

The sight that awaited them was ghastly to behold. A full two score orcs and goblins milled about a large central cavern. Ramshackle buildings dotted the clearing, where goblins with short bows patrolled the roofs. Dominating the open area in the middle was a stage, and this was where all eyes of friend and foe alike were currently fixed. On the stage was Snookum's beautiful bride, being roughly tied to a stake by two large creatures: Cave Giants.

The battle party was outnumbered by nearly four to one. Still unseen, the group quietly put their heads together and began to work out a plan. Frank the Tank spoke first "Those archers will be a nuisance. Dakken and I can move up, using our shields for cover. Claytoris and Leviathon can follow closely behind and pick them off before we enter the fray." The scouts nodded. "Chocolate Thunder, you and Ginger go—"

As the others talk strategy, Sergeant Snookums's anger grew to a burning rage at the sight of his love burnished to a stake, and ignoring the talk behind him, he charged in, both his longaxe and voice raised in terrible violence. He crossed the distance to the nearest orc in a half-dozen heartbeats, and cut down the first orc in the group of onlookers before any of them had a chance to realize what was happening.

Captain Bamba swore. "The damn fool is going to get himself killed! No time for strategy! Go! Unto glory!"  The cleric marched forward calmly, and saying a prayer, called upon his god, the master forger of all things. There was a rush of power, as warm as any forge fire, that came from seemingly nowhere and smote a dozen of the evil creatures in one fell swoop of holy magics. The cleric looked over his shoulder, "What are you waiting for? GO!"

Any other creature laden with as much armor and steel as Frank the Tank would be slow and cumbersome, but the Dwarfs are a sturdy people, and he pushed forward in a blur, unencumbered by his burden as he was. Frank rushed past Sergeant Snookums, bounding over the lifeless body of the bifurcated orc. Slamming his tower shield onto the ground in front of him, he secured one side of the front against goblins, orcs, and the 2 Cave Giants. When a shield-bearer of Wilmingheim settles into position, they are as immovable as the mountain itself.

Leviathon and Calytoris begin firing at the goblins on the rooftops, the superior engineering of their repeating crossbows needed to be reloaded after five shots instead of simply one. They were able to make short work of the archers on their side of the field. They nodded to Ginger Princess and Chocolate Thunder, who began to circle around a large boulder, and approach the fray from the side. At the same time, Dakken moved to finish the wall that Frank the Tank had started. Halfway to the front, however, he was intercepted by an orc berserker, who all but threw itself wildly against Dakken's mighty shield, but still managed to temporarily halt his progress.

Battle raged on all sides. For every enemy that was cut down, two more seemed to take their place. It took only mere heartbeats before the cave giants roared and entered the fight, flinging the small goblins aside as they lumbered forward, huge battle axes in hand. The closest one bellowed and put all his weight behind a swing intended to cripple Frank the Tank, but his shield arm held, and his low center of gravity and stout armor kept him fast. Frank was acting as a wall that not even three meters of solid muscle and hate could dislodge.

The twin hammers of Chocolate Thunder and Ginger Princess crushed all that stood before them. They fought back-to-back, and they moved as if using a single mind, blocking blows and countering with powerful strikes of their own.

The sounds of battle were quite loud, and quickly drew reinforcements from the orcs and goblins. Now three score enemies stood between the party and their prize, coming from different directions. Several spotted Leviathon and Claytoris, lingering on the outskirts of the battle, firing into the melee. Thinking them an easy target, several orcs and goblins rushed to attack their position. Leviathon was the closest, and got off another shot before he dropped his crossbow and turned to face his assailants. The scouts of Wilmingheim are famed for their marksmanship, and for the throwing axes they wield, regardless of range. Leviathon drew his axes and let one fly through the air, landing with a smack in the thick forehead of one charging orc. The other ax parried an incoming blow, knocking that orc off balance and making it a perfect target for Claytoris' deadly crossbow. The thrum of the bow’s release was the last thing the enemy heard.

Inside the press of bodies, Dakken and Frank the Tank held fast. Their shields locked, arrows, javelins, and blades seemed to bounce harmlessly off them. Attempting to keep them at bay, Frank the Tank struck out at the cave giant, still attempting to break his defense. The cave giant, showing surprising speed, dodged the attack at the last second, leaving Frank's War axe embedded in the rocky ground. Frank cursed, taking one step back to close a small gap between himself and Dakken, and drew his short sword, ready to continue the fight. It was at this moment that the first major milestone towards victory was gleaned. The cave giant, growing frustrated with the impregnable defense of Frank and Dakken, attempted to circumvent them. The giant made its way carefully around their bristling shields, but he was not careful enough. Seeing an opportunity, Frank the Tank and Sergeant Snookums both lashed out at the creature, striking killing blows on the beast. 

Holding one entire side of the battlefield by themselves, the twin furies of Chocolate Thunder and Ginger Princess somehow cleared the field. Chests heaving, sweat and gore dripping, they were very nearly spent, such was the climax of their battle. They locked eyes for a long moment. For a time, all was still save the pounding of their hearts. No, not their hearts; the sound of steel on steel and the din of battle was still in the air. They nodded at each other and, smiling, charged towards glory. 

Several times during the fighting, a dwarf was wounded, and seemed nearly unable to continue. Fearing the loss of a brother, when the need was greatest Captain Bamba would call on the healing powers of his, and their, god. The fighters would feel as if they were hot steel quickly quenched in cold water. This tempered them as solidly as steel, staunching their wounds, and bringing them back to fighting strength.

Chocolate Thunder and Ginger had rejoined the battle, though on opposite sides of the shield wall. Ginger Princess ran to aid Sergeant Snookums, who was flanked by the large corpse of the giant on one side, and was quickly getting walled in by foes on the other. Taking them from behind, Ginger Princess was able to easily finish off his foes, smashing them with his longhammer. Chocolate Thunder, in a moment of profound bravery, or perhaps a foolishness beyond all mortal ken, charged the remaining cave giant, still held at bay by the shield wall. He cut quite an impressive figure in that moment: barely a quarter of the height of his looming foe, barrel-chested and dripping, he struck with all his might, and was cast aside by the giant's wicked battle axe. Ginger Princess cried out, as if he too were wounded.

Splayed open for all to see, wounded beyond belief, Chocolate Thunder rose to a knee, and then to his feet. For the second time this day, everything seemed to stop around him. The cave giant eyed him quizzically, as surely it thought him dead. From deep within himself, Chocolate Thunder lived up to his name, and bellowed his defiance at the creature. Raising his hammer, and bringing his full power down on the giant's lower body, it was impossible to tell if it was his weapon or his voice, but the cavern shook with his release. 

The giant was knocked to the ground, pelvis shattered by the impact. Captain Bamba, from across the field, had seen the damage done to Chocolate Thunder, and began rushing to heal him. However, seeing an opening, and a chance to end this, the Captain rushed forward with a different purpose. Reaching the downed, but not dead, creature, Captain Bamba asked for the aid of his patron deity one last time, and channeled the almighty power of Torag through his warhammer. As the creature struggled to stand, to fight on, the Captain raised his hammer. Bringing it down one final time, the sound of a smith's hammer striking an anvil was heard, and the cave giant went limp with the blow. The cacophony of battle ebbed in that moment, the only sounds left were the scrabbling of the handful of remaining goblin archers as they fled into the darkness.

As the rest of the party began seeing to wounds and dispatching any enemies still clinging to life, Sergeant Snookums alighted the platform. His goal, his bride, was unharmed. He cut her bonds, and they embraced. He kissed her softly. If she was discomfited by the gore in his beard, she made no sign, so deep was her joy and relief at holding him once more. Snookums, still clutching his love, turned to his compatriots and let out a triumphant cheer. The others followed suit. "Captain Bamba," he exclaimed, "the thought of waiting one more second to wed this lass is unbearable to me. If she'll allow, I would have you perform the ceremony now!" Those around him all agreed, and so it was. Captain Bamba performed all the nuptial rights of his office, and it was official. The others bore witness to their betrothal, amid many cheers, and tears, and jibes. Once finished, the group made their tired way back to town.

It was barely midday by the time the group returned to Wilmingheim, and they were treated as heroes. Long were the celebrations of the townsfolk and the feasting that day. The group washed and reveled, and when they were satiated, the couple made their way to their betrothal suite, where they were barred together with naught but each other’s company. The townsfolk brought them food and mead, made from the honey of the bees just outside their mountain home. There the couple would remain for the span of a month. At the end of their "honey moon" the new couple emerged, and they lived long in their love.