My B-I-L just declared he's going to drink dinner, which means he'll finish the Budweiser case he and his friend Keith have been working on since 6:00.
They're sitting out on the deck, in their bare feet, smoking generic cigarettes (in a green box), and drinking a beer every five minutes. They've got their big ole mutts out there with them. Sweet dogs, but they're feeding them IAMS dry dog food out of an empty ice chest.
B-I-L is marinating a deer leg in another ice chest and intends to cook it up tomorrow night. I don't like venison, and I've told him so, but he tells me it tastes like chicken; indeed, like Popeye's chicken, since he's soaking it in some kind of cajun rub.
This is going to be the weekend from hell!
LOL, venison marinated in an ice chest does not taste anything like Popeye's chicken! Unless you drink enough beforehand, of course. Then it does.