Some geezer and his wife just nearly terminated my mortal spin on this big blue ball today when he pulled right in front of me full speed. I could see that he never did see me. His wife looked even older than him and she didn’t see me either. All of which pretty effectively leads right in to. . . .
Crazy old coot, Bill Sullivan of nearby Nokomis, told his son and keeper, Tim, that he was taking the car to the local grocery store to get some balloons and peach preserves. From there, for reasons known only to him, the demented 86-year-old, with scrambled eggs for brains, said he was heading to Chicago . . . and if anyone tried to stop him he would kill them.
Well, long story short: After a week of circuitous wandering (credit card statements show him zigzagging all over the state, above) and with enough hair-breadth escapes and adventures to make Jason and the Argonauts envious (he had forgotten how to even put gas in his car), the old bird was finally spotted one night on a highway down by Miami waving his arms at passing cars. Men in white coats showed up and shackled Bill to a seat on the next short bus home.
"I'm going to give him a hug," said Tim when he heard the news.
Nice. Very sweet. I’m misting up. Glad you got your pop back, Tim. But dude, next time that wild animal you call a dad gets loose we are coming over for a visit. My advice: Place those damned car keys on 24/7 lockdown now and DO NOT let your dad have them under any circumstance! Since Bill himself has no memory of anything, it is anyone’s guess how many people and animals he ran over and killed and how many post office walls he drilled holes through. The thought of your dad and probably a hundred thousand more deranged seniles out there on the highways is enough to make me and other normal people afraid to even go outside, much less travel on the roads.
Yet another “tribute” to Elvis this weekend here on Lemon Bay. Yaaaaaaaaaawn. . . . Given that on any given night there must be at least three or four hundred Elvis impersonators performing poorly and murdering music all across Florida at VFW’s, assisted living centers, and at back yard charity benefits for folks who lost their lawn mower and a few tools when their sheds caught fire, you might think that these so-called “tributes” to Elvis had just about run their race and that the world was just about tributed out. After all, there are people today shuffling around with walkers whose grandparents were not even born when Elvis popped his last pill and kicked the can. “Elvis? Yeah, I heard of him, I think. Wasn’t he one of them Three Stooges?” But nope, Elvis still brings out the worst in imitators who fancy that they are dead ringers for “The King” as they butcher songs and throw sweaty panties to the five or six middle-aged land whales who comprise the "audience." I suppose it is as simple as: When Fred retires after 30 summers with K-Mart and he is looking for a little fame for a change by mimicking someone at the annual nursing home Christmas party, why not just go with the flow? After all, ten million Elvis impersonators can’t be wrong.
Stake Out—Up at Tampa, a mentally disabled chap at a care center was accused of swiping money from staff members. In an attempt to make the crazy fellow talk, as well as to inflict some good old-time medieval punishment on him, a young staffer staked out the culprit on an ant hill. Actually, the accused was forced to merely stand on an ant hill. Now, take it from me, being forced to endure repeated fire ant stings would be more than enough for most sane folks to quickly lose their minds. Fortunately, since the victim had no mind to lose anyway he was no worse for wear and is now safely back to his old ways, stealing the staff’s money. When one witness stepped up and corroborated the above story to cops, he too was threatened by the accused with the dreaded fire ant torture. That’s quite a “care” center they've got up there.
Florida. . . . Who could make this crap up?
Florida. . . . Who could make this crap up?
Again, I must apologize to you mopes for the erratic nature of this beastly late post lately. I am right in the middle of some extremely important stuff (sleeping, surfing porn, yawning) and, quite honestly, this blog is not paying me squat to post and the “extremely important stuff” is. That, then, explains why it may be a bit before I can get regular again with Sand Sex. Please bear with me. Or is it “Please bare with me”? Or does it really matter?