The Best Wood Of 2012

September 14th 2012

I did it…twice.

Went to the Spritzenhaus Bar in Williamsburg, Brooklyn that is. Once back  in September 2012 with  Nicole Detamble  where we triple-fisted questionably large ciders like this:

Not alcoholics...

Not alcoholics…

And the second time in February 2013 with my friend Alex where we invested in a few brews or 6 and admittedly ended up looking like this:

Not alcoholics.

Not alcoholics.

But there was something that always brought me back to this place.

Something.

That no other place in Manhattan had.

Something.

That compelled me to travel all the way to Brooklyn just to enjoy their well renowned

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Jenga Pieces.

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Come back this story gets better.

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Now, the first time I went to the Spritzenhaus, I was completely oblivious to their strange Jenga ways. In fact,  I non- chalantly grabbed the complimentary box, placed it on the table, and prepared elevate my pride  via miniature pieces of wood (hahaha)  But as I reached my hand into the combo pack (hahaha) –

I noticed a message on one of the blocks

…and then on another…

and then on another.

And before I knew it I had created a Jenga Tower Of Poetry that looked like this:

Ta fucking da

Ta fucking da

And then I began to read them. And I realized. That every single message. Came from a different person. That was also here once. Triple fisting ciders and admittedly making faces like us. Interesting people. Weird people. Anonymous people. Just. Like. Me. So I snapped a few pics of the cream of the crop wood I discovered back in 2012, and will now share them with you.

No listen it's romantic because of the heart.

No listen its romantic because of the heart.

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...Beware of the person on your right.

…Beware of the person on your left.

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The time I realized this did not say butterflies....after...I passed it around the table...

The time I realized that this  did not say butterflies…after…I passed it around the table…

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I feel a remix coming on.

Potential remix idea? I think yes.

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Said Paris Hilton's singing career.

Said Paris Hilton’s singing career.

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The only reason they exist, in my professional opinion.

The only reason they exist, in my professional opinion.

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I share the same woes about my breakfast.

I share the same woes about my breakfast.

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Hand-drawn penis says Education First!

Hand-drawn penis says Education First!

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Roses are red. Violets are blue. The fuck is that smell?

Roses are red. Violets are blue. Man in a diaper selling fruit snacks.

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I can't think of any one else who feels this way.

Can’t think of any one else who feels this way.

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No...no thanks...

…No…no thanks…

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And the qualifying candidate for pants arrrreeeee:

In case you’re curious as to who the qualifying candidates for pants are…and what you should do in them.

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Preach.

And I shall call you Penis Bait.

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Carpe Diem indeed.

An ill-advised snap chat companion.

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Suddenly I don't feel so stellar pulling out jenga pieces...

…Family game night just took a weird turn.

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IMG_0637

“Sorry. Can’t date you. Raisin cookies. You understand.”

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4 responses

  1. Pingback: The People | olivethepeople

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