Take a good look, folks. That right there is our favorite thing about this here blog: bringing people together whom we are fairly certain would never have met otherwise. From left to right: AZGopherGirl, Joker and Fasolamatt. Three of the most disparate commenters, in terms of content (and perhaps lifestyle), that one could imagine. And there they were, last night, chatting it up and hugging it out.

About last night: Good times all around. Shirts were distributed, pictures were taken, bowling was, um, bowled, innuendo was dispersed and football was watched. (It’s not easy writing an entire list sentence in passive voice). More on that game later, though we will say this on our behalf: we were less emotional and less prone to salty language than at the last MNF Redactular. We will also say this: the Vikings are now 2-0 during MNF Redactular gatherings. Coincidence? Yeah, probably.

A full head count: Roughkat, Roughkat SELF, Muxhut, Muxhot, Ray (Swarmswarmswarm’s Main Squeeze), MC Creme Fraiche, The Hootie, Newbie, AZGG, Joker, Fasolamatt, Dave MN, and of course us and the RBBH. There in spirit, otherwise known as a text message: Local Quipster, Stu and SwarmSwarmSwarm.

Dumbest idea: Bowling one day after running a marathon (runner-up: kicking the ball to Reggie Bush).

Most confused: Everyone not associated with the Redactular, wondering what those shirts were all about. (Runner-up: AZGG, who found Joker to be a fine and upstanding citizen in person).

Object of second-guessing: Dave MN, who had a nice first game of bowling but rolled something like a 79 in his second game … with HIS OWN BALL. You bring your own ball, you roll like a champ. No excuses.

Longest commute: Well, Newbie came from St. Paul. AZGG came from Arizona. Sometimes it’s hard to tell which is further from St. Louis Park. For the record: AZGG was here for work, and her appearance was a happy coincidence. She did not — repeat, did not — come all that way just to meet Internet friends. She’s watched Dateline. She knows the drill.

Fasola-link! Why it’s hard to write good books about the mafia.

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