It’s funny. Weener natives (Michelle included) break out the coats and gloves, turn up the heat, and generally shiver their way to cover when the temperature gets down to a sub-arctic 55 in South Florida, as it did last week. Northlanders like me just flap our wings, roll in the rays and squawk our ridicule. Such weakness!
Heads, You Lose!—Over in one of the numerous hobo jungles that shames affluent Sarasota, three habitually homeless bums were holding high carnival the other night. Seems one of the thieves had “borrowed” some steaks from the local grocery store and the three were having an old-time cook out. During the party, as the gentlemen were guzzling stolen rum and swapping lies about jobs they had never held, one of the rioters accidentally kicked the grill and plopped the sizzling steaks plunk into the sand. Seems this awkward act upset one of the revelers just a tad. Ranting and raving, the hungry hobo jumped up, cussed a few licks, knocked down the clumsy hobo, then grabbed a nearby machete and let him have it. Five minutes later, when the hungry hobo was finished, he dropped the bloody machete, wiped the sand off the bloody steaks, placed them back on the grill, poured himself another shot, then relaxed and quietly watched dinner cook.
The next day the angry hobo was sitting in the county calaboose without bond. Not far away, the clumsy hobo was laying in the county morgue without his head. Never a dull moment down here among the savages.
Great Balls of Fire—Seems Florida’s risky roads just got riskier. If the senile geezers don’t get ya the stoners will. Up at Lakeland, two gentlemen—let’s call ‘em Cheech and Chong—were just cruisin’ along in their van the other day, ‘joyin’ the weather, cooking a load of meth, proud to be ‘Mericans. As Chong was making a batch in the back using the new ‘shake and bake’ method by simply pouring the various acids and poisons into a whiskey bottle and shaking it, the mess suddenly exploded. Poor Cheech was killed stone dead in the driver’s seat but Chong went flying down the highway in the flaming van like a coon on a comet. When the fiery mess crashed into a ditch, Chong made a break but the cops soon caught the singed wretch and toted him away.
Texting ? Cell phones? Drunks? Add flaming meth meteors to the perils of Florida travel.
Over Miami Way--Old Ida Ginsberg celebrated her 100th birthday or something the other day. When asked what she attributed her longevity to prim Ms. Ginsberg mentioned that she never touched tobacco or booze. Okay. Ida added that she also “avoided salt, sugar and dairy products” like they were the black plague. Hmmmm? Sounds noble, but how does anyone in these here United States, the “Home of the Hungry, Land of the Obese,” reach a hundred or something without having ever eaten a potato chip, a candy bar or a milk shake? Wonder if Ida’s second hundred years will be as exciting as her first?
Bummer—In the past I have mentioned good ways to go and bad ways to go. One way to deaprt this realm that certainly has to be entered into the latter category happened last week up at Tampa. David Voiles, a 43-year-old professional golf ball diver—that’s right, a professional golf ball diver—was found floating like a dead carp in a lake at the Sherman Hills Golf Course.
“Voiles was discovered along the course’s 10th hole shortly after 10:30 a.m., Tuesday,” ran the official report. “The cause of death could not be determined immediately.”
Not only is that a bad way to die, but that is truly a trivial way to go, something about as pathetic as being flattened by a cement truck while chasing a rolling penny onto a busy freeway. And excuse me! “Cause of death could not be determined?” Ha! What in hell do they think happened to Dave? He’s found drowned in a lake at a golf course and he dives after golf balls for a living! Does anyone think that a gang of tough golf course gophers killed Dave over a drug debt and then dragged his body into the lake to cover their tracks? “Death could not be determined. . . . ” Jeeeesh!