Not since El Morocco tore up its striped banquettes has café society seen such a gathering of bright lights. The rout that was Roastacon 2009 will be as long remembered as the shrapnel embedded in the historic walls of the adjacent townhouse, whose owners, while initially stand-offish, did have to break down and agree that Kevin K’s recipe for Fish House Punch certainly has a kick. That the festivities began on the sixth hour of the sixth day of the sixth month was entirely unrelated to the subsequent deviltry. Entirely.

Mrs. Polly in pink hat, Marindenver with orchid, gimmeabreak with not much

Rumproasters marindenver, Mrs. Polly, and gimmeabreak (aloft) shared their taste for snark, sammich-making, and a certain refreshing grape drink.

We first commenced with a toast to our absent friends, particularly our co-bloggers:

Hunger Tallest Palin, who, because he is a pure but attenuated Palin from the frozen North (of DC somewhere), I have chosen to depict as a noble fir tree:
Hunger Tallest Palin  stand tall O noble pine

the lemony meringue that is Betty Cracker:
Betty Merengue with Cracker Crust

the many-layered, pungent yet fresh, Yet Another Freaking Brit:
Yet Another Freaking Brit, No Leek Jokes Please, We're Welsh

and the ne-plus-ultra of Rumproast, our sometime guest-poster, the always mysterious and electrifying Strange Appar8us:
strange appar8us

Our fearless leader, Kevin K, displayed the extraordinary balance for which Rumproast justly is an award-winning blog.

Kevin K and Strange contemplative

Our DC friend Alt Hippo and Gil Mann demonstrated congeniality AND amphibiousness.

Alt Hippo and Gil Mann

KC, Marindenver’s brilliant and spirited daughter, live-blogged the unfolding mayhem with the sang-froid of a seasoned war correspondent.

KC in Roastland

In order to protect TS of Instaputz from the results of his commandeering of Marin’s computer and the visits from serious, dark-suited men that ensued, I have disguised him as a thirties cartoon character, who while not like him, is similarly diabolical. Marin will contact you shortly about some of those DOD downloads, TS.  “Joint” Chiefs, indeed! 

ts of instaputz making mayhem

Pumarubbernecker surveyed the perimeter for signs of a threatened invasion: caterwauling, the glint of sharpened knitting needles, cupcake liners and the acrid aroma of bitter tears. But the minions of muddled monotony were as absent as a Michigan superdelegate in a Puma pocket.

Pumarubbernecker, YAFB, Betty Cracker, and parts of gimme

And you, you know who you are. Well, perhaps you don’t, but discretion forbids my saying more, except that the forwarding address you left for the damages estimate is actually a podiatrist’s office in Fresno. We don’t mind absorbing the fee for the rewiring, but restringing that entire chandelier with lead crystal droplets ran into some bucks. We rest assured that you gave us the wrong card out of confusion and an excess of Flying Mules, which we warned you about, but which you nevertheless imbibed.

You Know Who You Are

Roastacon, Roastyricon, Rumproastanalia, however you would have it, was a glorious, blazing, whomping huge cavalcade of delight. It was hardly a surprise to find out that Rumproasters are hilarious, brilliant, and full of bonhom- and bonfemie. It was a just a swell confirmation.

There was one puzzle that was never solved: just barely audible, below the cheerful gabble and bursts of song, was a constant, faint snuffling.

Management attributed it to sewer rats.
the clown cried

Posted by Mrs. Polly on 06/13/09 at 04:18 PM • Permalink

Categories: BoozeI Don't Know Much About Art, But I Know What I LikeRumproast Related

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Bravo.  George Soros wanted me to keep his gift of ACORN underoos a secret, but it’s all good.

And for our stalkers’ benefit, the final head count was 22 people. Not quite as impressive as the most awesome political movement of our lifetime coaxing 60 or so shut-ins to an airport hotel on the outskirts of DC for a super-secret conference, but pretty good for one dinky blog that never pretended to be anything more than that.

Wait a minute, I have it on pretty good authority that Kevin shaves his legs.

Kevin, that was just our Northeast contingent! Roastacon DC should be a blast, and the Midwest and Left Coast regions deserve their own Roastacons.

And of course, when we go into Spring Training in our winter quarters, fans fight for tickets.

You remembered to include rabid anti-Semite Andy Martin and Larouche wannabe Webster Tarpley in that count, right Kevin?

You remembered to include rabid anti-Semite Andy Martin and Larouche wannabe Webster Tarpley in that count, right Kevin?

But, of course.

Mah-velous, Mrs. Polly.  You have, as always, captured exquisitely the power of the moment and the charm of the surroundings.

May these frames be captured for Roastacon 10’s banner and t-shirts.

Oh, this is wonderful! I can almost hear the witty - though slightly slurred - banter. If I shut my eyes I can taste the wonderful sammiches. Thanks for putting me in the picture (or the at least the frame) so to speak.*

Wait a minute, I have it on pretty good authority that Kevin shaves his legs.

I have it on good authority (in the form of a dozen 8 x 10 glossy photos) that Keven shaves every-

Oh never mind, he did send this month’s check.

*Note to law enforcement officials. I was NOT at the event described herein. In fact, no one was. We were all at a Christian retreat in the Poconos. Fasting and praying. Or do I mean feasting and preying? No. Definitely the former.

Goodness, Polly. I can only expect that your Sistine Cocktail Napkin depiction of this depraved Obot Saturnalia will soon replace Cassilly Adam’s rendering of “Custer’s Last Stand” as the most widely (and fabulously) hung bar-back lithograph in the history of Oddly Gratuitous Saloon Art.

I’m teary-eyed to finally see the faces (and legs) of my Anonymous Comrades in Undermining Decency and Hacking Away at the Tap-Roots of the Republic.

I am also—and quite honestly—amazed that you were able to capture not only my face, but my dodgy between-the-walls wiring, with only a few quick strokes of the triple-ought.

Having spent the past five hours trying to draw a caricature of my stepdad for next Sunday, I kinda hate you right now.

“Doop dee doo, just thought I’d crank out a New Yorker cover, no big whoop.”

Damn, Pol, you got me right down the fin-ring. Coulda sworn I kept my clothes on the whole time, though, so jeez, my apologies, everyone.

So Kevin has my pants. OK, now I’m really confused.

Outstanding as usual, Mrs. P. I’ve always thought of myself as more of a key lime slice (with a graham cracker crust), but now that I think on it, lemon meringue is probably closer to the mark after all…

Betty, I should have realized that you were pure Florida Key Lime. You’re being very nice, but if there is such a thing as Key Lime meringue, you are definitely it.

BTW, I looked up meringue, and apparently ignored what I just looked up, so you are both a piece of pie and a latin dance.

Damn. Next time I hope we have more lead time to make travel plans, or that y’all consider doing a left coast blowout anywhere from Seattle to S.F. I. WILL. BE. THERE.

Mrs. Polly,

No doubt about it, I’m in love with your artwork. I look, I swoon, I die.

Mrs. P. - what a masterpiece!  Just got back from the mountains where I didn’t have internet access so just catching up.  This is really great.  KC bears an interesting resemblance to Alice and I LOVE my dress.  Much nicer than the jeans and cardigan I thought I wore.

GOT to get internet at the cabin so we can keep up!

You’re being very nice, but if there is such a thing as Key Lime meringue, you are definitely it.

Pshaw—there is, and you drew it perfectly! Real key lime pie is yellow and often has meringue. The green ones are fake concoctions for tourists.

You know, I remembered talking to an anthropomorphic hippo, but wrote it off as a drunken hallucination.  Now that I know he’s real, I’ll be sure to act on all that financial advice he gave me.

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