Like a Knight in Shining Metal, you circled the massive outline of your former insides steaming on the sun-baked asphalt, dropped to one knee, looked across the sea of vomit towards your pride-beaming lady, flipped the bird with both hands, and said, “Babe, take a picture of me and my puke.”
Estimated reading time: 5 min
Like a Knight in Shining Metal, you circled the massive outline of your former insides steaming on the sun-baked asphalt, dropped to one knee, looked across the sea of vomit towards your pride-beaming lady, flipped the bird with both hands, and said, “Babe, take a picture of me and my puke.‹
Estimated reading time: 5 min
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Thomas Kelpen That is so metal!
Dear guy who puked next to me at the heavy metal festival, I’m not sure how much you remember about the first time you vomited last Sunday afternoon. I imagine, like many who achieve epicness—champion athletes, first responders, Medal of Honor winners—you were primarily running on double-bass drum fueled adrenaline, removed from your person and the mosh pit below, transported to that supernatural place.
Estimated reading time: 5 min
Dennis Frank “An open letter to the guy who puked next to me at the Heavy Metal festival.”