Tailgating from home is not tailgating. There needs to be an actual physical tailgate (meaning the ass end of a vehicle) in the general vicinity of food, alcohol, and the venue in which the contest is taking place, with some of the people involved holding tickets to get in to said contest.

My petition to adopt Dylan McCaffrey went so poorly he decided to leave the team, so here we are. Grainy and out-of-focus screenshots of FaceTime calls, Frydaddy suggestively cuddling a giant meat dick, random wedding pictures, baby pictures, family pictures, and…and…what’s this? WHAT? IS? THIS? A bunch of pictures from what looks like an actual tailgate with people outside drinking, eating, and having a good ol’ time!?!?! CANADIANS!?!?

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Tents are up. Tables are decorated. Food is prepared.

I’ve got 12 long years of dealing with this group of very French-Canadians (I don’t know their actual names) and once the Florida State loving one with the friend that outweighed me stopped coming to games, the entire lot of them started showing up after the trailer was unloaded and the tents were up. They roll in around 10AM, eat most of the bacon, and hand out a couple of Bloody Caesars to try to make up for it.

Somehow, one of them recently won a birdhouse (given to the tailgate MVP each year). I think he caught us at a weak point, and might have put something in that weird cream-based whiskey he kept forcing on us. I think another one got a birdhouse for taking pictures for like 2 weeks and scanning half of a photobook from Godfather’s archives. That abandoned scanning project has been dumped on me during Covid, filling an entire bedroom with books full of crappy pics taken with a child’s camera. Another Canadian, the one that seems mostly ginger and rocks a flavor savor, forced us into making a Canadian birdhouse just so he could get one. Now he re-carbonates already carbonated beer and posts pictures of it on the internet.

I thought they just ate snow all week and hibernated from December to August, but here they are, fending for themselves, cooking, eating, putting up tents without direction. Good lord, even putting the walls up on the tents. Imagine if I ever asked Captain Carbonation to do that. Insert perennial eye roll here.

Oh well, can’t do nothing about it this year.

I think I’m going to roll the grill out and make some hash this Saturday though. Holler at me if you want to pop in. On to the pictures...