Monday, June 18, 2007

Word To The Wise

Upon my return from Mobile yesterday, I do what I always do ... take Banzai to the car wash for a squeaky clean experience. Driving through the country tends to bring out the locust swarms and nothing says "eww!" like bug guts all over a black car.

As I was pressure washing the front fender, I noticed what appeared to be two significant scratches. I'd been out on the town with my cousin the night before, so I thought, "Shit. Someone hit my car in the parking lot and now I have to file an insurance claim. That's just freakin' great." Upon closer examination, however, it turned out to be two long strings of stuck-on gum. As I was doing this exam, I still had the pressure washer going and somehow it got directed right onto my hand where, apparently I was lucky in that it only ripped off a few layers of flesh in a small, isolated spot.

Note to file: Never get a pressure washer, especially at the base of the nozzle, anywhere near your skin. It burns.

It was a fun, fun weekend I must recount. We took my father canoeing down the Escatawpa River that runs the Alabama/Mississippi border. It's all sorts of down-home fun, including riding in the back of a pickup once you're collected and taken back to base camp. As we're driving along this Mississippi road, we notice an oncoming white pickup truck full of guys in the back who begin waving a friendly wave at us. We wave back. Then we notice they have on white shirts with green/white striped pants.

Convicts. They were convicts.

The Robby Johnson has now been:

1.) Kicked out of a strip club before he even got in because his friend, who convinced him to go with her as she was seeking out her adulterous husband, punched the stripper girlfriend of said husband in the face before we could even get in the club and;
2.) Mistaken for a convict.

If that is not badass, I don't know what is.

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