Saturday, June 16, 2012

Here’s Yer Proverb . . . and Yer Sign

A gator not only bit the hand that fed it the other day, but he ate it right down.

Down in the Glades, some air boat captain was in the habit of hand-feeding the local alligators.   Although the gaping tourists from Indiana also ate it up, ‘tis agin the law here in Florida to do such mischief and 63-year-old Wallace Weatherholt damned well knew it.  Thus, Wally really put on a show for the women and children the other day when he lowered something nasty over the side to feed his favorite relic from the dinosaur age, “Cindy.”  When next the captain’s arm reappeared it was nothing but a blood-spurting stump.  I bet the cameras and kids went wild on that one.

Florida Fish and Wildlife gunslingers quickly set out searching for Cindy.  When they finally spotted the armored hand-thief they snuck up on her, corralled her, killed her, gutted her, then plucked Wally’s not-quite-digested hand from her gullet.  No word yet if the hand was reattached.  I allow it won’t take and I also own that by now Wally is down to a hand and a hook.  This is one boat captain that won’t be quite so charitable with his last good hand when next he thinks about wowing the crowds by feeding chicken guts and dead mullet to his pets.

No word yet if Wally is being charged with a second class misdemeanor but in this case, I engage that Captain Hook has been punished about enuf.

Death by Amtrak—Depending on his frame of mind, some biker up at Jacksonville Thursday evening either picked a bad time to cross the railroad tracks or a good time.  If he hoped to see another sun, his timing was terrible; if he wanted to  escape this spinning blue ball RIGHT NOW, then his timing was excellent.  Despite the gates down, lights flashing and cars stacked up, the cyclist rode around all, then entered the crossing at the precise moment a northbound Amtrak train, horn blasting, brakes screeching, entered.  Two seconds and two hundred feet later, bike and biker came back to earth, a jumbled mess of metal and man.

"He just rode the bike, nonchalantly just right out in front of the train and the train hit him," said a detective on the scene.

The Big Uneasy—Michael and Michelle just back after two sleeps in New Orleans.  Nine parts biz, one part fizz.  Now, one day and two nights does not a poll make but from what we saw, ain’t no way NO is ever coming back.  The destroyed ghost town should stand forever as a monument  and reminder to all American cities that they may suffer a similar fate. Not enough energy, not enough ambition, brains or payola, too much crime, too much graft and corruption, too much lethargy, and too much of everything bad to raise this town from the dead.  Unless one sticks solely to Bourbon Street, at night, during Mardi Gras, and staggers about sloshed, stupid and stumbling, the obvious is there for anyone to see.  Miami may be next. 

Wonder how far along Joplin is one year later.  My guess: Much farther along than NO.

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