Well, not really, but Thrilla, Mini Thrilla and I did terrorize the Sandestin staff this morning.
Met up for a fine breakfast at Another Broken Egg and discussed the finer points of marriage, parenting and the Mardi Gras in Atlanta.
The other patrons kept looking at us as if to say, "Those nice gay men have adopted a baby. The terrorists have apparently won." Seriously though, Thrilla needs a DNA test sharpish. That baby probably resembles his neighbor, the milkman or one of his wife's co-workers, cuz it sure doesn't favor him. Which in hindsight is probably a good thing.
Now if the rest of you fuckers will get your sorry asses down to the beach I can continue my tradition of not traveling anywhere to see your ugly mugs.