Friday, November 02, 2012

Hit the Road, Joke!

Americans!  Your choices above: Candidate #1 (left), black, a proven liar, a toad of Israel, a war-monger; or Candidate #2 (right), white, a proven liar, a toad of Israel, a war-monger.  Take your pick.  Take your time.  Nice choices.  Nice nation.  Nice knowin’ ya, Uncle Sam.

Patbull--Some character, some 51-year-old guy named Pat Brill, got all bent out of shape the other night over in Englewood, aka Pittbullville.  Seems Pat’s wife or girlfriend or mother or niece or great grandma, or whoever, seems some woman, for whatever reason, forbade Pat from entering the home to . . . take a shower, of all things.  So, what does any dirty, but self-respecting drug addict in Englewood do in a case like this?  Why, he naturally goes nuts, explodes, bounces off the wall, he loses it like some sort of warped out murderous maniac, that's what he does.  

Brill found a sledgehammer that just happened to be laying around then proceeded to kill the messenger by bashing and busting all the water pipes. He sure fixed that shower, you bet!  A short time before, the lunatic had beat some poor dodger with a cue stick when the dodger had beat him at a game of pool. Pat sure showed that pool player, you bet!  God forbid some little school kid put some whoop ass on Pat at arm wrestling for this mental might go to the nearest grade school with a bulldozer and show that building too, you bet!  I call Englewood “Pitbullville” not simply because of the vicious four-legged variety of beasts so prevalent over there. 

Anywho, this poor boy, poor Pat Brill, is now safely stowed in a kennel for two-legged pitbulls where he can get that much-needed shower and perhaps gnaw on some free meds, courtesy of the county.

Name Nonsense--A local lady kicked the bucket this week and her all too brief obit appeared in today’s newspaper.  I know nothing about this woman save her name, where she lived, the day she died, and the funeral home tending to her body.  And that is a pity.  Perhaps there is no one left alive to fill in the details of her life.  At five years shy of the century mark, perhaps the lady outlived all those who might have added some color to her long life.  

Any way, the dead woman’s name is Mary L. Spiridigliozzi.  Now, can you imagine going through life—95 long years of it--with a name like that?  Can you imagine how many cumulative days, weeks, months poor Mary spent simply repeating that ridiculous name and spelling it out veeeeerrrrry slowly to clerks, bank tellers, public officials, new friends, old friends, people hard of hearing, telemarketers, Nigerian internet scam men trying to give her millions, phony telephone hurricane roof repairmen, cops trying to catch phony telephone hurricane roof repairmen, and others?  Now, being unable to spell such a Gorgon Godzilla name like that is only a little worse than trying to pronounce it.  I normally am good at such stuff but even me, even me it took several passes, don't you know?  It would seem as if this name should be pronounced: Speer-a-dig-lee-o-see.  

Odds are Mary was not born with that millstone around her neck but acquired it from a husband carrier.  If so, then why oh why did not this man’s ancestors, soon after stepping off the boat from old Palermo or Napoli, and to spare generations yet unborn this burdensome tag, just simplify and shorten the confounding name to say Spizolli, Spaghetti, or better yet, just plain Smith and let it go at that.  But nope, gotta go with that grand old name that got them here, Spiraridgarogozorilladillazorrozzi. . . . Oh, forget it.

Close Shave—Got hit by another car today as I was biking through Englewood.  Yep, I saw him up ahead.  He was pulled partly onto the sidewalk waiting to slip into busy traffic.  I thought I could slip by in time.  Wrong.  Just before I reached him, I saw to my chagrin that the perfect time for this driver to jump into traffic would be just about the split second I passed in front of him.  Too late to stop, my only hope was that this gent had seen me coming and would not lurch forward.  Ha.  Vain hope.  See me coming?  Right!  Although his bumper hit the rear of my bike it was a glancing blow and not enough to throw me and I managed to stay in the saddle and hold my position on the sidewalk. 

But really?  Who was most at fault here?  Who was the lunkhead?  Was it me who already realizes these people seldom see someone on a bicycle?  Or was it these people who seldom see someone on a bicycle?  It’s a wash, I know.  I DO blame myself for assuming the best in a worst case scenario and I do blame these blind people who almost never notice something smaller than their own car. 

I think it just a matter of time . . . just a matter of time . . . just a matter . . . just a. . . POOF!

Bridge Breather--Decided to debike and just stop today on the south drawbridge and take in the view.  Huffing and blowing, I normally never do that because 1) I am tired and only two miles from home and 2) sometimes the gatekeeper will chase you off.  But today was different.  Baby dolphins were frisking just below and I was gonna watch come high or hell water.  In their zest, zip and zeal for life, these little things are hilarious as they speed around chasing one another, then suddenly leaping from the water. They are almost perfect miniatures of their elders.  

The pelicans too were going nuts.  These great birds would flap up maybe 30’ above the water, spot what they wanted, then whoosh, a straight dive head first into Lemon Bay.  In a second up they appeared again, gulping down a suitcase load of tiny fish.  Apparently, the loons were sated on sprat for they stood nearby on the wooden pylons with their black wings spread in the sun to dry.  Over the way, I could see manatees barely breaking the surface to suck another load of air before back to the bottom of the bay and their salad greens.  

On the other side of the bridge, a few human fishermen were on the pier casting out in the warm sunlight to catch I don’t know what.  Over the way at Sandpiper Key an old man was tossing a net from the bridge.  His bucket was full of large silver fish, each two pounds or more.  Truly, there is enough human and animal activity just in this small area to pass a day pleasantly.  But, as usual, I am in a rush so ten minutes had to do.  Sigh.

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