The Elks Club had a sign up all week:
“Crazy Hat Party & Rib Dinner – 2pm Sunday.”


More like Manic Depressive Hat Party.

For every valedictorian with a working Swiss coo-coo clock on their head there were 18 or 19 “Hoof Arted” and “CRS Sufferer” ball caps. One lady was going on and on about “Oh how crazy – I can’t believe – can you believe my hat, my goodness. My stars.” You know what her hat said?


Some of them weren’t even wearing hats. They just had bad haircuts.

And of course, by the time I got there – I had to stop off at the Comcast Store and trade in my Box so I could get my Channels – by the time I got there: No Ribs.

Just little cups of Mac and Cheese.

I had four.

Chris Weagel

Chris Weagel writes about the intersection of technology and parenting for Wired Magazine. No he doesn't. He can't stand that shit.

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