i didn't get crabs this weekend
(so far. unlike last weekend.)
and as has been the theme of my weekends as of late, running to the train because i'm running late, maybe i've had some of marge's wine, maybe not, all in the pleather comfort of my beloved train, here i sit hoping to educate you, my loyal readers, about the weird shit that seems to happen to me almost daily.
some of you will recall the seagull incidents of 2001: i am not too sure why they attacked me two weekends in a row (my sunscreen an aphrodisiac?) but they did. scary shit, and i've never quite gotten over my fear of the little bastards. yes, piping plover, you and i will spar again, a la the gang wars in 'the wanderers.' you can take the boy out of the beach, but you can't take the beach out of the boy. ask the clams about last weekend, yeah, bitch, i'm a local hero. NO ONE has gotten THAT MANY clams in as short a time as i this season. yeah. so keep throwing me those looks and i'll have your ass on the grill for dinner in no time.
wait, one cannot eat seagull. and i'm a vegetarian. but that's not the point. not. the. point.
and no, terns, i haven't forgotten about you and how you aimed your razor-sharp beaks at me circa fourth of july of this year when i went to get the stray beer bottle so YOU wouldn't cut yourself. (good thing i run sub-six when i need to... just rarely on race day, grr. maybe i need a seagull attacking me?) it's ok, though. you don't want me near you, that's fine. maybe we can work something out against the flies? using our powers for good instead of evil? just a thought.
get back to me on that one.
where was i going with this. it's gone. far too much wine.
and as has been the theme of my weekends as of late, running to the train because i'm running late, maybe i've had some of marge's wine, maybe not, all in the pleather comfort of my beloved train, here i sit hoping to educate you, my loyal readers, about the weird shit that seems to happen to me almost daily.
some of you will recall the seagull incidents of 2001: i am not too sure why they attacked me two weekends in a row (my sunscreen an aphrodisiac?) but they did. scary shit, and i've never quite gotten over my fear of the little bastards. yes, piping plover, you and i will spar again, a la the gang wars in 'the wanderers.' you can take the boy out of the beach, but you can't take the beach out of the boy. ask the clams about last weekend, yeah, bitch, i'm a local hero. NO ONE has gotten THAT MANY clams in as short a time as i this season. yeah. so keep throwing me those looks and i'll have your ass on the grill for dinner in no time.
wait, one cannot eat seagull. and i'm a vegetarian. but that's not the point. not. the. point.
and no, terns, i haven't forgotten about you and how you aimed your razor-sharp beaks at me circa fourth of july of this year when i went to get the stray beer bottle so YOU wouldn't cut yourself. (good thing i run sub-six when i need to... just rarely on race day, grr. maybe i need a seagull attacking me?) it's ok, though. you don't want me near you, that's fine. maybe we can work something out against the flies? using our powers for good instead of evil? just a thought.
get back to me on that one.
where was i going with this. it's gone. far too much wine.
posted by tom at 12:01 AM
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