This is a new and improved version of this photo that Ang, Coco, Max, and I took on a whim last night at my house. Trailer house photo in the background courtesy of Flickr user dbjorn.

Saturday was my 32nd birthday, and I hereby declare that it was the best birthday party and the best birthday overall that I have ever had. We partied until nearly 5:30 am at Maison d'Afterglide (ok, well I curled up on the living room floor and fell asleep near the front door somewhere around 4 or 4:30 am). And never has there been so much implied (and actual) female toplessness in my home. At least not all at once. I'm not joking.

There are photos. So many photos. But alas, you cannot see most of them. I'm serious. It was that kind of awesome party. I'm so glad Ang and I had the foresight to take Monday off. I'm still recovering a little. That's why I'm going to be lazy and simply link to my Flickr set.

Oh, and if you're wondering about the game with the plastic cup vaginas, I'll post the full details on that later, too.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.

Aaron likes how smooth my codpiece is. This is what happens when you drive so far into suburbia that you have to stop for an oil change and a haircut on the way.

More photos from Jason's snaptabulous suburban birthday bash from:

-Ang
-Max
-Amber
-Erica
-And the birthday boy himself

I'm going to let you in on a little secret. Jen, aka jenc17 is this many:

And this dirty little beggar needs to soap up his digits before I let him work in my textile mill circa 1834.

The evening began with tapas, sangria, and fellowship at Solera. As most of my friends know, I get very excited about beverages and fellowship. Obviously Amber does, too.


Alie and Hedy, you call that being fully engaged in the conversation?


Much better.


Amber receives training on the proper camera settings and framing for the perfect shot of the birthday girl. "I want Rich in the frame but not in a distracting way. Now if you set the exposure a little higher, you might capture my natural glow..."


Max: "I swear to God if Jeremy snaps another picture..."
Courtney: "I don't know what you are, little round food thing, but you are getting in my belly!"


Max: "That's it, Jeremy!" [throws down napkin, slides across the table, and smashes a pitcher of sangria over Jeremy's head]


When they know the eyes of the cameras are on them, Ang and Jeremy are the perfect couple.


But when he doesn't realize he's being photographed, Jeremy hurls racial epithets like hookers through a plate glass window.


It was a fine meal. Though there was very little company with all of the text messages, twitters, and games of Breakout.


After dinner, we headed over to 414 Sound Bar which Rich had reserved for a couple of hours for the party.

"Say, ladies. Have you seen my latest play? It's called Max Sparber and His Fine, Fine Bitches."


This is a fairly accurate representation of the atmosphere. Dark, bluish (the lights in the floor can change colors but were blue the entire time we were there). Imagine a DJ making thumping dance music come out of his thingy and random three-in-the-dee animations and movie clips projected on all of the walls, and you're there with us.


"MMMM mmmph... beer... good... om nom nom... mmph."


"Jeremy! How many beers are you going to drink tonight!?"


"Mmmph... glug... I dunno... mmmph... how many do they have?"


"Apparently not enough. You and I are having a little talk when we get home, mister!"


"...mmmph... sounds good... mmmm laldaldllaldllalllaaaaa..."


Oh merciful crap! It's a photographic circle jerk!


This is the part where I accidentally drank someone's LSD milkshake.


Stop laughing at me! Augh! AUGH! The couch just told the table to spit Mountain Dew on my shin bone! I need air! Get me the hell out of here!!!!


No! Get away from me, birthday devil... You're not taking me to Hell. Nuuhhhhhhh UHHHHHHHHH!!!! [strips off clothes and writhes on the floor, sweating profusely]


More and more friends filtered in throughout the evening. And DeRusha was either eating cake with his fingers or looking for a place to dispose of a soggy wad of chewing tobacco.


When fog started coming out of the vents, we thought it was part of the dance club ambiance. But we soon found it was oxygen-robbing Halon 1301 gas. Here is Ang blissfully unaware approximately 20 seconds before she passed out and turned blue.


Ang and Courtney danced like they just didn't care.


Ang and Courtney dance the fucking SHIT out of that dance! Lesley is amused.


"Hey, Ang! Check it out! I'm dancing! I'm really dancing!!"

"That's nice, Jeremy. Can I stop holding your beer now?"


While no one was looking, I pinched Ang's ass. Hard.


Alie acts coy as Ranty starts eyeballing a patch of drywall she'd like to rip out.


Elizabeth, probably the only qualified dancer amongst our group, shakes it with Andy.


"Buy me a couple more of these, and I'll dance even better!"


How many drinks did Alyssa watch Jason down that night? Good question!


Alie tries to sneak a sip of Lesley's adult beverage.


Hey, there's the birthday girl herself. Hey, Jen! How are you liking your party so fa-- Oh, sorry. I didn't realize you were squatting on the floor to take a pee. I do appreciate you covering up the hollerin' hole though.


Ang can sing, dance, and drink at the same time. Later, she also juggled 5 bocce balls and a bloody chainsaw.


"No WAY! She did not juggle a chainsaw!! Did she?"


Jen: "Elizabeth, I have to pee again. Care to join me?"
Elizabeth: "Sure! Here goes... Aw, shit! I forgot I'm wearing jeans!"


Even though I was so tired that we ended up leaving around 11, I can say without exaggeration that this was one of the best birthday bashes I've ever participated in. Happy birthday, Jen!

Be sure to check out photos of the entire evening here, here, and here.

Hedy invited us to a New Years Eve bash at her friend Sarah's place in Minneapolis. Given her building's proximity to the douchey club scene, I had visions of swerving to avoid head-on collisions with drunk drivers and installing a cow catcher on the front bumper of the car to scoop up and cast aside stumbling drunks congregating in the streets. But we arrived a little after 8, found a free parking spot on the street about a block away. We also left the party a little before the bars closed at 2 am and completely avoided the crush of taxis and high-heeled, short-skirted girls leaving steaming sprays of chunkless vomit in the frigid snow.

They handed out party hats, but mine was a little small.


I felt even worse when I realized I could fit my entire penis in it.


Ang and Loops were all like "Fuck you, tiny hat that Jeremy's penis can fit into!" They showed that hat what for.


Ang taught me something that night. Apparently her eyes are "up here," wherever the hell that is. I told her that I didn't care because her rack is "down there."


Alie stands guard while the wine bottle borrows my penis hat.


About an hour before midnight, I felt like such an idiot. Those tiny hats aren't for the penis, they're nipple hats!


Don't cross the streams. It would be bad.


The Good Scientist and Ang smoked a thinny.


Ang, no! If it isn't my cock, you shouldn't be suckling at it so provocatively.


I caught Hedy off guard and unposed. Did you know that this is how she normally looks?


As the clock quickly ticked toward midnight, Hedy frantically filled our champagne glasses.


Everyone who's anyone was at this party. I was there. Ang was there. Hedy was there. Even Kevin from Minneapolis showed up! We were quite thrilled that he finally showed up to an event. Amber is now double pissed that she didn't come.


Lesley, Ang, Kevin, and Ice Cube are happy that it's finally 2008. I'll bet Kevin from Minneapolis and Ice Cube have never showed up to YOUR party on the same night, you fucking losers!


The evening ended with a safe, sober ride home for a very drunken Ang, as well as two more of Hedy's friends. Just call me Mr. Responsible (though I drank during the last half of the drive so I would be drunk by the time I parked the car). And there you have it. Happy 2k8, fuzzy dick. I'll be back to lint roll your scrotum in 2009.

Ah, yes. Musical bingo. It's been quite a while since Ang and I have attended, and it's been even longer since there has been much of a turnout. Obviously we were thrilled to be there.


Now I'm still playing with my new camera, so I hope you'll forgive the rash of weird, shitty attempts at artsy fartsy crap. Most of the photos ended up being unrecognizable blobs.

First up is the color accent feature. You select any color, and then it will filter out all colors but that one. Abysmal Chick and Hedy appear to have been drinking fermented Kool-Aid.


Jen has been chewing on her sweater. She rejected numerous requests from others who wanted to do the same.


Ang is happy that my request was one of those that Jen rejected.


Alie must have taken a photo of my penis. It's not that god damned funny, Alie!


The color replacement feature on my camera gives Alie that special Satanic glow she's always wanted.


This would be an incredible photo if I hadn't turned on the color replace for green. I suppose I could have photoshopped the green back out, but something about Abysmal Chick and Hedy with mold growing on their face while a plate of green vomit sits in front of them -- it comforts me.


Abysmal Chick's face melts when the breeze shifts and crosses my unwashed ass.


Blogging all-stars pose until they're blue in the face.


Tim whispers to Alie that her panty line is showing.


Everyone tries to hide Alie's panty shame with their glasses, but they stop dead in their tracks when she slaps her knickers on the table and punches Aaron in the ribcage.


Lesley gives a long thumbs up to musical bingo. Or is trying to hitch a ride the hell out of there.


Just 5 more of these to go.


I never realized it until last night, but there's a titty on the ceiling. When Ang wasn't looking, I stood on a stool and suckled on it. Fucking sweet.


Alie turns red and cries when she learns they took all of our favorite beers off the menu. I swear they are trying everything in their power to drive us away. Hmm... I might not be terribly far off base.


I drew this guy for you. His name is Action Jackson Jackson Action. He loves you so much that he just peed in your ashtray.


The more I drink, the clearer the beer becomes, and the blurrier everything else gets. I need to drink more.

You didn't think I was done, did you? Not by a damn sight, son. Zombie shit, hot, fresh, and waiting at the window. Come get some.

Ang buying cheap toilet paper to use as the base of our zombie wounds. Oh, and she has to poop a lot. And wipe the poop off of her butt with the toilet paper. You use toilet paper to wipe poop from your butt.


Dawn of the Living Jeremy



Ang prepares to wander off into the world in search of brains.


Say, Courtney, that looks infected. A little H₂0₂ ought to clear that up.


An 85 degree, muggy-as-fuck day in October is the best time to slather yourself in makeup, liquid latex, and fake blood.


Zombie pet owners are a negligent lot.


Zombies sharing a fishbowl at Sgt Preston's? Eat off an arm, gnaw off a testicle, just do something uncooperative! You're zombies for the crying out loud!


Om nom nom nom. Flesh!


ARRRRNNGGHHH!


Arm rip tastes oh so good.


Ang and I rip into our once-treasured pet.


Nnnnrrrrrghhhh....


This guy waiting for the light near St Preston's was thrilled by the shenanigans going on a couple of feet from him.


Ang was in the photo next to the City Pages blurb about ZPC in last week's issue.


*slurp*


Zombie lovin' is the best kind of lovin'.


Oozing flesh freshly torn from the still-living body of its tortured victim...


...or just a plate of nachos at The Corner Bar.


Zombie Ang is too cool to deal with this shit.


Hey, check it out! I'm going to ride a motorcycle and smoke those drugs the kids talk about so much!


Zombie Zoolander is late for his modeling gig.


This wound is fresh.


Ang's neck wound still pulses.


Mmmrrrrghhh....


Zombie pups need cheesy flesh, too.


This is where beer comes from!


And this is where it goes.


Ooooooooooohhhh, man! I wants me some brains!


I said BRAIIIINNNS!!!!!!!


Or maybe you have something else you can offer me, cowboy?


Ungh? What you talk 'bout.


Are you dense? I'm coming on to you, you blood-drained hump!


Still no unnerstan'.


Jeremy: "Oh, now get it."
Ang: "Too late, jerk off. You had your chance."


Zombie Claudia/Abe Lincoln rips into a burrito -- I mean flesshhhhhhh...


Zombie Chuck want some?


Gimme! Mmmmmrrrghhhhhhhh... P.S. Anybody got some change?


The blood splattered like bacon grease in the night.


Even zombie dogs sniff each others' asses.


Aw yeah. Hot zombie on zombie girl action!


Meanwhile, at the Nomad...


The life of the undead is a blur.


A zombie sailor celebrates the end of WWII with his sweetheart. Hey, bub, did you hear about the new war we're shipping you off to?


Life and death pass before zombie Ang's sunken eyes.


Brains? Please?


"Believe"


At the end of the night, even zombies have to drive home (sober, responsible zombies, of course).


Video to come...

Zombie Jeremy likes to think thoughts.


Zombie Ang is puzzled by this camera thingy.


Riding in cars with zombies.


Zombie Ang and her seeping neck wound in Gold Medal Park.


Arrrrghhhnnnggggghhhh!


Erin is Zombinet Ramsey.


This poor couple were bitten on their honeymoon. Now they hand out gelatinous brains to children and the elderly.


Rockin' an undead heater.


My dead, chewed up puppy.




Somehow this Zombie couple wandered into Minneapolis from the suburbs. It must have taken them days and countless brains.


Zombie Abe Lincoln doesn't want your motherfuckin' five-spot, chump. Give him brains!


Zombie transvestites need brains too.


Dude in the background on the right is trying to look down their shirts to see some zombie titty.


This old dude with the walker was bitten while bitching about the firmness of his tapioca at the assisted care facility.


Courtney's gaping cheek and nose wound at Grumpy's.


Max just had some ribs. Human ribs. Somebody get him a wet one!


Gnnnnrrrrrgh. I didn't die for your sins, but I died in the middle of one.


This zombie at the table is sad about being undead. Emo zombie?


Does my neck look torn to shit to you?


Naw, baby, you look fine. Now shut your ass and eat some brains with me.


You like my turkey buzzard baby thing?


Noooooo!!! Stop picking at my wound! Or at least share, you greedy little bastard.


I wanted to do something with missing eye(s) like this dude, but it had to be a bitch seeing anything after dark.


Brain juice.


*sniff* Remember that smell. Is not brain. Gnnnnuh...


You know you want to hop on this undead cock baby. It's hard with rigor mortis!


Stay! Good boy.


The crowd at Sgt. Preston's.




This wedding party was a little surprised to arrive to a bar and patio wall-to-wall with flesh-eating cranium suckers.


Peter is oh so pretty! Kisses then, dolls.


Teucer (seated, left) and Jenn (standing) were at Town Hall Brewery with Teucer's brother for a different event. You guys couldn't have at least chewed on a liver or baby lung or something?


Hey, Mom! Yeah, it's me. I'm on a phone and I'm dead! What the fuck?


Zombie Michael Jackson leads a crowd of the undead in a rousing choreographed dance to "Thriller" playing on some guy's boombox.


This pile of intestines was literally vomited upon by one of the drunken zombies. Some guy spotted them and was going to put them in his mouth for a photo op before a girl warned him. He was half a second from having a mouthful of zombie puke.


The Corner Bar was full of the stench of death.


Ain't no party like a zombie party.


Mmmrrrghhhh.... flesh!


No, undead puppy! That's OUR salsa! *smacks puppy on nose with a detached arm*


Yeah, I just want to get up in there and lick it.


Dead sexy.


Ang had her period on the table.


What's up, my bitches?


The sidewalks and streets along the path of the crawl were covered in trails, splotches, and splatters of blood.


Video to come!

Thanks to Aaron for hosting a great party last night. I wish I remembered more of it and wish I had avoided that gigantic Dixie cup-sized shot that put me over the edge into hangover land. I forgot my camera, but here is a cell video of a little impromptu fire dance out in the yard.

As the hour became wee, and the fire became large, we waxed poetic about our slave, our master, fire.

With Angie and the voices of Rich, Jen, Loren, Kelly, and Jeremy.

Important video. This is every millisecond of video I dare post. To post more would violate the sanctity of the bachelor party oath.

"I, [state your name], will not tell a female soul of the things that go on at this bachelor party that could get my friends in trouble with their respective wives and girlfriends. I also will not tell anyone about the gay stuff."

I have no idea if anyone actually watched the live video feeds from the party last night, but I would like for you to please be enjoying the photographic evidence from the gathering. Perhaps it was the cool air (it only dropped to 55 degrees), or perhaps I have grown more lame in the four months since my last party, but things broke up surprisingly early. People started filtering out around 10:30, and most were gone by 11:30. Jen and Rich stuck around for some conversation and the burning of random shit in the fire (it was my big "fuck you" to recycling cardboard boxes). Then Loren and his newly minted bride made a surprise stop directly upon returning from their honeymoon trip before even stopping at home. Now that's party dedication.

Also in attendance, but not pictured, my brother Troy and his wife Danielle, Elizabeth, Ang's friend Justin and his fiancee Kandi, Kristen (who regularly comments here), Chelsea's husband Matt, and Ronny Gunz and his wife Gina.

Amber and Katy get the party started right by showing off their boobyliciousness.


Oh yeah, girls? Check on my mantastic rack! Pretty nice, huh? Hello? Anyone?


Ang from above. This is often the angle from which I see her when I'm trying to fart on her face.


And here's what she sees when it's about to happen.


Erica and Missy pose all pretty-like for the camera.


Ok, ladies, let's take one more shot just to make sure we get a good photo. One, two, th--HEY! Erica!


Chelsea, Karah, and Amber bust out dancin'.


Jen and Rich. Rich swears that's a rugby shirt, but sewing a couple patches on Captain Picard's tunic doesn't fool me one damn bit, Rich. Engage!


The yard was lit up with multiple forms of fire.


Ang being Ang -- adorable.


We now interrupt this blog post to take a look at some totally awesome beards.

Yeah, that's right. My beard loves you, too.


Taylor's beard has a little more time on mine. Look at him. All smug about his kick ass beard. You win the battle, but the war isn't over yet.


Hedy and Captain Picard #5 admire Andy's rockin' beard.


I tried to talk Taylor and Andy into a beard rubbing trio, but they punched me in the face and left. What, guys? What!

This is the part where everyone took naps.


Someone (it wasn't me, I swearz!) made a hot dog penis with olive testicles and a hamburger vagina with an olive clit. Awesome.


The 'dog wang wants all up in that burger 'gina.


This dude's hot dog wang is pierced. Kinky!


I review the meaty genitalia pics on my camera. HYUCK!


Jen laughs as Rich demonstrates how to fondle the balls of old men. I disagree, Rich. You need to go much lower.


Ok, I don't think anyone's looking, so I'm going to go ahead and just fart quietly to myself. Yeah, this is totally under the radar. Ahhhhhh -- hey, what was that flash?


Lesley, Erica, and Missy like beer.


Jen, Teucer, and Ed discuss how blue my toilet water is.


With huge chunks of ash floating in the air from burning a palette and a chainsaw box, we peer through the haze for a photo.


I like to burn shit.


No, Ang. They are not "devil horns," they are metal fingers. METAL FINGERS. I will not have the devil on my hand, thank you.


Kelly, Grant, and Nichole pray for the party to end, and their wish is granted.

Hope you enjoyed the grainy live video feeds from the party. The low light outdoor camera made it look like half my yard was ablaze from the fire pit. Photos will be posted soon.

I'm having a little shin-daggity-swig at my place on Saturday. There will be drinking, eating, and if the weather cooperates, a roaring bonfire. If you have not yet received an invite, it's probably either because I don't know you or don't have your email address. Do I know you? Or kind of know you from you commenting here (or me commenting on your blog)? Then don't be shy. Drop me an email, and I'll fire over the info. Again, only if I know you. I don't need random dickslappers wandering through my house, jizzing in my silverware drawer and stealing my porn (or jizzing in my porn drawer and stealing my silverware).

For those who can't attend, won't attend, or live far, far away in distant lands like North Dakota or downtown Canada, I am going to make an attempt to set up a couple of webcams to stream the festivities here on the blog. Guests, fear not, for I will clearly mark them and set them up in a way that will allow you to avoid broadcasting your drunken antics to the world if you so choose. In any case, load up the ol' blog Saturday night to see if I pulled it off. Maybe you'll see a naked booby! I know I'd like to see one. That would rock.

On Wednesday, we had the biggest turnout for musical bingo of the last few weeks. It's been rare lately that more than 3 or 4 people have showed up. Perhaps it's the irresistable pull of the waning days of summer. We were joined by Ranty, her husband, and her friend (whose name I didn't catch). And Hedy made her triumphant return to bingo after galavanting all over Asia for a few weeks.

Alie laughs at Hedy as she reacts in disgust to the banana-flavored drink her friend Matt bought for her.


Alie adds insult to injury. Hedy wonders what she did to deserve this treatment.


Ang reacts to how big of a douche I am.


Hedy shows off her pretty drawing, but I can't see it. Let's get a closer look...


I see. It's a topless woman playing shuffleboard in high heels. Apparently it's quite cold out there, and she has testicles on her back.


Ang vamps it.


After recovering from the bingo goodness of Wednesday, Ang and I decided to make a second visit to the Minnesota State Fair for some good old fashioned people watching. We took it easy on the eating, pretty much having a meal and one item for dessert. I had a chicken wrap from the food building, and Ang ate the worst hamburger in the world.



After walking around for a while after we ate, I decided to try one of these Fudge Puppies I kept hearing about. A Fudge Puppy is a belgian waffle on a stick dipped in chocolate, but it sounds like something I'd accidentally leave behind on someone's couch after drinking three pots of coffee and eating a box of Ex-Lax, but what the hell. I was so excited. I'm going in, people.


Is this how you like it, Senator?


Oh, God... yeah... fudgy... delicious... cream...


Daddy likes, little Fudge Puppy. Want me to pack you?


Delicious! I give the Fudge Puppy a thumbs up. But I'll never eat one ever again...


...after seeing these staples of the fair. I call this one "Planet Ass." There was a lot of space junk orbiting her trunk.


Another oft-mentioned staple of the fair, morbidly obese ladies in carts. Note how I used Ang as cover in both shots to avoid suspicion that I was snapping pics of fat ladies' asses and guts. Mmm... I'd love just stick my dick in those folds and hammer away. It's pre-lubed with sweat and Pronto Pup grease.

It's been quite some time since I've posted anything from musical bingo. I hope you enjoy this number starring Amber doing God knows what.

The first 6 of us arrived Friday afternoon. In attendance were Loren, Kelly, Ron, Willie, Grant, and me. After purchasing groceries and booze for the weekend, we returned to the cabin and commenced a-drinkin' while Willie grilled up some burgers and brats on the expensive looking mega grill.

Grant (left) and Willie (right) look on as Kelly threatens great bodily harm on my person for taking his photograph.


Grant thinks Kelly farted, but isn't sure. Kelly knows he farted and loves it.


Ron and Loren enjoy beer and blue shirts.


Loren pours some margaritas. He tries to hurry before one of us overpowers him to drink straight from the tequila bottle.


The master bathroom has a nice window over the tub and a plush chair and ottoman so I can read the New York Times and watch you while you bathe.


...more to come...

For several years, a bunch of my buddies and I have made it a tradition to head up to Duluth for a weekend of poker, beer, and farting. Usually there would be some sort of outdoor activity involved (hiking, kayaking, etc). Prior to to moving back down to the Twin Cities area a few months ago, Loren lived in Duluth, so we'd crash at his crib, get rip roaring drunk, break his valuables, and plug his toilet (ok, so it was just me who plugged the toilet). This year Loren is getting married to Kelly. This fine, upstanding, moral, attractive, educated, and sociable woman found herself snared in Loren's tentacles, unable to escape. I don't know what dirt he has on her, but it must be good. That's some quality blackmail, Loren! Keep that stuff in a good safe, man.



This year's festivities, organized by our good friend and best man, who is also named Kelly (weird Freudian man love thing?), took us to the most amazing cabin I have ever set foot in. Out of the two or three cabins I have been inside of in my lifetime, this was the shit-covered tits. This joint was decked the fuck out. Flat panel televisions with satellite, a stereo system with an iPod deck and sound that could be piped out to the deck, front porch, and even out to the horseshoe pit. There were three plush bedrooms, one upstairs in a master loft area with its own bathroom, and two in the basement, where there was another 3/4 bath. Both shower areas were floor to ceiling stone tile. It was like washing your wang in Hef's grotto. The kitchen had every utensil or piece of cookware you could possibly need, and the house was stocked with board games, books, DVD's, cards, poker chips, and other ways to while away the hours indoors. But the weather was perfect, so we spent most of our time outside playing horseshoes, ladder golf, a curious and addicting game where golf balls affixed to each other with a rope are tossed at a ladder-like assembly in an attempt to wrap them around the rungs to score points. But of course, I thought it was more fun to wrap them around my head every few minutes, rest them on my chin and exclaim, "Hey, guys. Blue balls on my chin!" Fuck I'm clever!



Here are a few photos of our sweet digs, situated on 20 acres. This meant no neighbors to piss off with our drinking, yelling, and frequent outdoor urination.



Now if you had walked into the cabin ass-first and just looked at the door and outer shell, you'd think, "Man, this is homey and woodsy!"





But little did we know. Roughing it is so tough. I think the our flat screen was only 40 inches. And you kind of had to bend over to put your iPod in the dock. Northern Minnesota is rugged, man.


Down a rough path in the woods, a smaller cabin sat next to a creek bed (dry due to the lack of rain this year). Inside, it was modestly furnished with a ladder to a loft that Grant decided to lay claim to. There was electricity but no running water, which I wish I had known before I pooped in what I thought was a toilet. Turns out it was Grant's duffel bag.