...try the fossilized Holdstein nFreeze, son, that my Aunt Enga serves as the purported dinner, every fourth Sunday of the month at our familial-attendance-mandatory Teutonic Terrors In Dining event. (Oh how I do wish she'd find something other than the Wagner for the dinner muzak.)
Oh, and don't expect to be lookin' down on Aunt Edna. At 6 feet 3 inches in stature (and that's before she puts on the clogs!), she never sits during dinner, preferring, in her roll as the Hell Hun Hostess, to goose-rhino-step circles about the banquet table, dressed in her combination Dirndl/East German National Olympic Team Shot-putter ensemble (Say! That probably explains those occasional outbursts of roid rage!), plunking down additional platters of post-Miocene meat product (I believe Elmo's Spam is pre-Cretaceous) while twitching her swagger stick as some sort of metronome to speed up our mastications of the sinewy bovine. It ain't yer Aunt Golda's brisket, I can assure you that!
Afterwards, we all go out on the adjacent mill race, each in his-or-her individual kayak (canoes are no longer allowed, as Enga says they remind her too much of the size 17 loafers Uncle Gunther left behind under the bed when he ditched her for that Romanian gymnast he met at the 76 Games in Montreal) to practice our rolls and duffeks as Enga hurls 8-kilo shot at us.
Rescue / Throw Bags
Shirts / Tops
|Table of Contents|