Abbeyfest 3.1a - Taking it to the streets

In which our intrepid Strike Team enjoys a bit of R&R along the Barbary Coast. We somehow managed to avoid shanghais and press gangs, and had a pretty damned good time.

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Planning subversive activities.

On arrival at the rendezvous, the rest of the team was waiting, patiently. I usually try not to be early to things like this. As it was, I think we caught them unprepared. I'm certain we weren't expected at such an early hour.

We went upstairs and whiled away the morning. The new twins, Georgia and Jeannie, sat and plotted under the glowing monkeywrench flag.

Ed Shrine In absence of the great Carl Hiassen, we set out some Ed Abbey books instead. Oh, wait. I think I messed up. Can I start over?
Mike took a few moments to give thanks. OK, he's probably worthy.

Sober sex was had by all. Or almost all. Then it was time for mimosas. Champagne flowed, topped with a splash of orange juice. We practically had to pry Georgia away from the bottle. But Gunther by far got the worst end of the deal. I guess all that Guiness didn't prepare him for those good ol' southern brunch drinks.

If you haven't already done so, move your cursor over the picture, and see how a little champagne affects el zopilote.

The phone rang, and interrupted our sober sex. Jeannie and Mike quickly distracted the interlopers, while the rest of us carried on. Say "hello" everybody.
look around OK, so Abbeyfest in a city isn't quite all that one might think. But there's a lot of beauty, even in this urban setting. . .especially in San Francisco.

Reading directions was never one of those traits blondes are known for. And sometimes, you have to pay the price. Here's Jeannie trapped on the roof. If she'd only read the notice before she crashed out into the sunshine.

Move your cursor over the pic to read the notice yourself.

Where did this shirt come from? Georgia forced me to take this photo. She thinks maybe one of the Abbeywebbers can identify the image from her shirt. She doesn't know where it came from.

We went into a cool Italian place for dinner, but they didn't have Guiness for that before dinner snack. So we went around the corner to an Irish pub. Gunther was able to get a small slug before Georgia slammed the rest of it down ravenously. It was all Gunther could do to hold his glass out of her reach.

I never saw anyone drink quite like Georgia.

How's this for trompe l'oile
Here are a few pix taken by el zopilote. The blame rests squarely on him. I'm just the vehicle here, OK?

What Abbey gathering photo collection would be complete without a "butts shot"?

From Left to Right:  Sgt. Kat, DogBreath, and Mike.

In this photo, Mike is peeing on unsuspecting bystanders on the street below. Sgt. Kat and Lt. DogBreath are spotting for him. People in SF are so used to this kind of thing, they know better than to look up if it rains on a sunny day. For my part, I did my best to disassociate myself with this crowd of hooligans.

We should've gone here. I first noticed this place three years ago, when I first arrived in SF, but I have yet to set foot inside. Shame on me, huh?



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