This thought occurred to me with great frequency at the High Density Testicular Festival,  or the Brickyard Block Party, as some like to call it.  Constantly rubbing asses with other men and not the sparse population of "boobalicious" females will do that to you.  Hearing the word, brau (not bro.... brau, like rocky balboa) echoed around you, like dogs barking in a kennel, will do that to you.  The smell of packed drunken dudes will do that to you.  Not being able to get a $6 can of beer without waiting an hour will do that to you.  A 450 pound drunk, black man yelling "outta my way mothafucka" at you while you're in line for the porta potty will do that to you.

But, I'm glad I went.  Not only because the company I kept was awesome (the other SR, and various others whom we met up with).  And, not only because of the boobaliciousness (let's face it as sparse as it was, some boobaliciousness is better than none.)  But because the block party is one of those things that you get that feeling in your chest if you don't go to.  You know everyone is going.  People call you, text you, IM you, carrier pigeon you to tell you that they're going to be there.  Sitting home and playing Scrabble on a night like that makes for much more regret than being surrounded by drunk dudes who you wanna hit with a crowbar (unless its some form of strip scrabble, the possibilities of such a game excite me to no end) .

All in all, the night ended perfectly, a good old fashioned car ride, with some good old fashioned Canadian bashing.  And then off to the good old fashioned Acrop for some good old fashioned BLT's in the early morn.