It’s Thursday, y’all. And I been working too damn hard for being at the beach. I had forgotten, after two years, the petty crap of being on several small projects at once. For one thing, there’s like 15 status meetings a week. But that’s okay I got my latest flavor of local beer to keep me company: Oyster City Tates Helles. The name* being a play off a local state park.

I was told that no one would be without healthcare coverage after 2010.

“I’m sorry I knocked your teeth out.” But not sorry enough not to finish whipping his ass.

Another problem for Georgia.

 

* A tale that has been told for many years recounts how Tate’s Hell Swamp got its name. Local legend has it that a farmer by the name of Cebe Tate, armed with only a shotgun and accompanied by his hunting dogs, journeyed into the swamp in search of a panther that was killing his livestock. Although there are several versions of this story, the most common describes Tate as being lost in the swamp for seven days and nights, bitten by a snake, and drinking from the murky waters to curb his thirst. Finally he came to a clearing near Carrabelle, living only long enough to murmur the words, “My name is Cebe Tate, and I just came from Hell!”. Ever since, the area has been known as Tate’s Hell, the legendary and forbidden swamp.