Bullfighting - because stomping grapes isn't nearly bloody enough.
Why this guy with the bucket was shoveling chum onto the rink, I'll never know.
Mickey the forehead biter was right behind her.
Wes didn't understand why he wasn't moving. He had his boots, Christine was giving him a good push, he should be zooming away by now.
Christine wore reflective glasses to hide her tears of joy.
Paka wore orange goggles because...um....he's always dreamed of being a tangerine.
"Here we have a line of native pine trees. You'll notice directly ahead, a giant wave of acid. Acid?! Oh my god, my eyes are burning! The googles, they do nothing!"
The ski patrol had warned Wes once already about ski pole jousting. But what did those flatfoots know. It was time to defend his fair lady's honor!
"Why are you touching my thigh? No no...don't stop."
Nothing brings a group together like a photograph. Except maybe a 30mph collision on the slopes. But let's not dwell on what we cannot change.
Lora: He's got it all wrong! It's sand the floor, sand the floor, wax on, wax off, paint the fence. This DJ sucks.
The heavy fog gave Wes the perfect cover to indulge in his true love: thievery.
Chris: What do you mean this isn't beer?!
Off our meds.
Randall: Hehe...hehe....that bird bit it.
Christy: Mhhhha...heheh...busted antenna funny.
Randall: My finger smells like gasoline. hehehehe
Christy: hehehehe...cool.
