My parents and I went out for Sunday Brunch at a local brewery and grill place today. The broasted chicken was glorious and I found out that they have the trivia with the handheld devices at the bar, making this the first place I have found in Green Bay with such wonders. I'm going to have to gather up my nerds one night, get a few pitchers of homebrew, and test the level of my otherwise useless factual knowledge.

There was also this astounding Family of Bad Sweaters at the table across from our booth. It was like watching the wardrobe of "The Cosby Show" eat buffet. There were approximately 7 adults and 4 children, each donning a sweater so foul and garish that I was mesmerized for a full 10 minutes by the fluctuating sea of bold, disharmonious colours and busy geometric shapes.

There was also 80s hair. It was early 80s hair, too; that mysterious transition between the limp shapelessness of 70s hair and the era of the poodle bangs. The men all had curly hair, thus accentuating the uniform helmet of unparted, untapered coiffure. The women displayed both the short and long versions of scraggly early 80s hair. One of the women (the one in the oversized black V-neck cardigan with the first buttons near the navel and florescent argyle pattern on the front) even had a black leather bomber jacket with "PACKERS" emblazoned across the back and green and gold trim on the cuffs and waist.

I tell you, Killoggs, this family was my own personal gorgonian monster. I would have attempted to capture it on film but I feared rousing its cognizance and facing the relentless attack of diamonds and triangles and gold hoop earrings that would no doubt result from my photographic efforts. Family of Bad Sweaters, I salute you. You have collectively done the unthinkable and stolen The Gold Medal of the Unfashionable from Blonde Texan Exotic Bird Woman and Entire Polish District of Chicago. You are both magnificent and terrible, Family of Bad Sweaters.