Calgary, Alberta, Canada (this is just above Montana for those of you whose geography lessons terminated after the 50 states and their respective capitals).

My brothers and I, accompanied by our significant others, and my very-good-best-buddy descended upon the city for a weekend of cowboy-inspired shenanigans.

As I mentioned in my last post, the catalyst for our gathering was the Calgary Stampede.

The Missus and I arrived by plane Friday night around 9pm. Historically, travel by dogsled has been a cheaper, albeit lengthier option of travel but the effects of global warming have all but shattered the passenger dogsled industry in the more southernly stretches of Canada.

We were met at the airport by the older brother  (note that older does not necessarily imply more responsible) who we’ll call “Doctor.” He quickly whisked us over to a small party being hosted by the younger brother and his “lady-friend” (his words, not mine) who we’ll call “Pinky” and “the Brain” (I’ll let you figure out which is which).

My very-good-best-buddy, we’ll call him “Raymond,” had already arrived and managed to pull together some team jersey’s for us.

Being a few hours behind I quickly donned my jersey and dove head first into the action with a can of Pilsner in one hand and a gong in the other. After all, this was “Gong Show ‘09.”

The night progressed as they usually do. We drank slightly faster than is truly responsible. And we told embarrassing stories about each other and poked fun as our way of saying we were glad to see each other (when you grow up with 3 brothers there aren’t a lot of “I” statements being made).

By midnight Doctor and Pinky’s shirts were sufficiently shrunken from the dryer so we could now hit up a bar and our first taste of the Stampede night life.

The tell-tale signs that you’ve found a Stampede caliber bar are the bails of hay out front (in case your horse gets the munchies).

We walked in to a live band in cowboy hats playing country music. Perfect. We saddled up to the bar, ordered a few pitchers, and got down to business. We drank, we danced, we made comments about the people who were uglier/skankier than us. It was a good time.

But like all good times, this one came to an end right around last call. Doctor put Mrs. Doctor in a cab and Raymond left to find his truck where he was going to grab his over-night bag and make his way to the condo where he’d be staying.

Note: We found out the next day that Raymond decided that a cab ride would be too expensive so he slept in his truck. At least it’s a king cab.

Pinky and the Brain led us back to their condo where the Missus and I passed out on the blow-up mattress. Doctor decided that the couch would work for him.

Time to get some rest before the real show begins.

~Kbshea