Nobody Puts Baby In The Corner

I realize this is my fourth post in three days, but I will be in a mysterious place without Internet (it's known as "Canada") until monday or tuesday, so I figured I'd give ya'll a supply of quality mustache posts for when I'm gone. As the fat in a camel's hump allows him (or her) to go for days with very little food or water on long desert treks, this small backlog of posts shall sustain thee until my return.

Memory flash while walking through Gregory Park today: My birthday party last April (it was a little delayed), playing junta darts at dusk by the stone arch. Junta darts, by the way, are small cones of paper fired out of PVC tubes; really, they're just a different method of "tagging" someone. On this particular day, we were playing two-hits-and-you're-out single-flag capture the flag. I don't recall the precise teams, but our own Janitor was making a run across an ice patch when Josh Ellens loaded up a dart and opened fire. Kurt moved to dodge, but he slipped on the ice and was hit as he fell to his back. Ellens rushed up while loading another dart, stopped just above the Janitor, growled "See you in Hell" in his best Solid Snake voice, and finished him off with a point blank shot. Damn.

For some reason when I think of this moment, I subconciously replace Kurt with Sam Walker. Maybe because Ellens basically did this to Sam every day in Art History.