"But ah'm not afraid of dyin'. Cause I know that when I get to heaven there are gonna be these wonderful trees, and ah'm gonna climb them. But you know what? Instead of leaves and flowers, those trees are gonna have fried eggs, and delicious Virginia ham, and big heaping bowls of biscuits and sausage gravy. And one day, Sammy, you're gonna meet me there, and we're gonna climb those breakfast trees together, and it's gonna be delicious and we're gonna be happy until the end of time."


What can Brown do for you?

So I walk out of my house at 2 this morning, ostensibly looking for Ross. There is a bit of a hubub about B2, upon further investigation I find that Walt Brown, Anderson, and Ross are drumming up support for a fire down at short point. I was thinking more along beddy-bye lines, but I'm no party pooper, especially when it involves a cooler full of beer and a fire. Being reasonably intoxicated already, they've decided to drive Walt's Explorer down the trail. The fire itself was nice, we shot a great deal of shit, just four drunks talking about professors, visiting artists, bodily functions. The real fun didn't begin until we started back home. The boys, ahem, extinguished the fire with their hoses, and we turned toward the car. Here I should probably explain Walt can't even stand without support, but he still wants to drive back home. To make things more interesting Anderson climbs on top of the car. We make it back to housing, but Walt isn't done yet. He starts driving all over campus, running Anderson backwards and forwards into tree limbs at breakneck speed. Then he wants to go to the overlook, but once we get there, he decides we should be at the highway. We lounge around at the sign at the bottom of the hill, but seeking more excitement, we head out onto the bridge. It was eerily quiet, not a car around. We were running around in the middle of the highway, crazy as loons. The stars were out in force, brightly reflecting off the lake so, up or down, it was a sky full of stars. Frickin' amazing. We threw quarters in the lake for good luck (took them 15 seconds to hit the water) Then we outran a semi-truck all the way back to the car. Starting back up the hill, Walt's car began to sputter. Out of gas. We walked up the entire driveway, drunk, at 5 a.m. I've never fallen asleep so fast. To know Walt Brown is to really understand how funny all this is. He's definitely a Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde situation, with beer as the chosen catalyst. So mild mannered, yet so entirely insane.
Here, play with this: