Kind of an inside joke for all my NW MI neighbors.
This is the time of year when hungry hordes rise like the undead from the grave known as lower Michigan to swarm our streets.
It’s an eclectic group — some are donned in red hats; others in rat-tails and stars-n-stripes bikinis.
Yet others come via sea-and-wakeboard beefily shouldering cases of MGD with nary a sleeve in sight—they manage to communicate with a series of grunts, palm-slapping and innuendo.
But it’s not brains they crave… it’s homemade fudge.
Only the bravest or most desperate of locals dare leave our bunkers…
On this day I salute you Traverse City citizens who brave the streets crawling with fudge-smothered phantoms in the hopes of seducing them into purchasing a tye-dyed t-shirt… you gotta find some way to feed your babies after all.