Yesterday, my buddy Dave and I headed to the one and only Pats game either of us will make all year. It is an annual tradition of sorts that I go to a game with Dave where it rains and our team loses. However at least time Father Time was on our side, as the Pats didn't start until 4. That gave us an extra three hours of tailgating, where I assure you no member of the animal kingdom was spared. Here's a quick overview of the tailgate: 3 tents, 1 TV, 2 tables, 2 grills, 1 open fire pit, 1 deep fryer, lots of free booze and beer, and several jealous looks from wet dudes who were pissed that the guy who showed up in a Prius was eating a leg of lamb right off the fire.

As for the menu: One whole deep fried turkey, Chili, Leg of Lamb, Spicy Lamb chops, Burgers with eggs and hot sauce on top), Chicken Wings (1/2 hot wings, 1/2 bbq), and a every kind of drink you can imagine.

Or you could just pass all this up and go to Legal Sea Foods. Yeah. I'll get right on that.

The Essentials of a Tailgate. Notice what's not there?
Money. That's because I'm broke now.

Filling up the fryer for deep frying everything.

The Turkey's last meal request was for a shot of Captain.

It seems no matter where I am, I cannot escape women in
golf carts trying to tell me that my Boston Beef is the winner.

Chicken on the grill. Side Note: Pam "Grilling?"
We are a nation of idiotic consumers

So Fried. So very very fried.

I really love these large walk in bathrooms.

Some folks were not as lucky and made make shift tents

R.I.P.
Piece of Shit Tent
2008-2008

Our walk from the tailgate lot to the stadium
requires you to walk through a train.

Bizarre.

But the other side is pretty sweet.

Finally, we're in.

Some guy named Dennis was listing a little to his right.

Second row seats. Great for watching certain kick returners
drop the ball at the 8 yard line.

Margaritas. $1 more than a beer and a hell of a lot stronger.
Or you can go to Dunkins. Note: That food review makes me
angrier and angrier every time I read it.

I am not sure why, when, or how I took a picture from the men's room.
I blame the margaritas.

I want to know who the Cheer-tator is for this squad who makes the Cheer-cisions about donning hats and track suits. What a bunch of cheer-shit.

They failed to notice my Pheeeeel Seeeeeems sign.

If you ask how much of a colassal douchebag your
average Steeler fan is, Pat Patriot has the answer.

1/4 pounder. No idea how much this cost. But according to the wet, rumpled ones and fiver I found in my pocket later, two of them cost less than $15 dollars. So that's good, right?