Me: I’m not gonna take on a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty.

3 beers later:

When you see your main dude across the Gitche Gumee and KNOW you’re bout to break deep and take water

Gf: come over

Me: can’t. Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms.

Gf: The witch of November isn’t home

Me:

This could be us but u playin

Me: mom, can I have 26 thousand tons of iron ore?

Mom: only if you promise not to go in the face of a hurricane west wind

Me: I promise

Mom: okay

Me: (Gitchee Gumee time)

I’d have made whitefish bay. But I’m built different.