Signs of a Party (or Drug Abuse)

On the way to work this morning I spotted a random (sad?) can of Reddi Whip, sitting on the steps all by its lonesome.

To me, it seemed like the remnants of a party. Liz looked at it and asked out loud “Don’t people get high off of that?”

I then, to my shame, proceeded to tell her exactly how people get high off a can of whipped cream. While I myself have never tried this particular approach, I am no stranger to the frosty touch of a cracker and the sounds of The Hurdy Gurdy Man, as covered by the Butthole Surfers.

While looking again at the image while I write this, I see that the red top is missing. Where did it go, and does its absence lend credence to one theory over the other?

I like how, when we find things we can’t explain, our minds immediately try to wrap a narrative around it. We feel compelled to invent a story, particularly when one can’t be found.

Secretly, my hope is that someone was just out here doing some hilarious spit takes.

Thanksgiving in Frankfort, 2013
So… *THAT’S* How You’re Supposed to Use Those Nitrous Cartridges

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