An old friend of mine is flying in on Saturday for a week long visit and I will probably be scarce here on the blog for that week. I haven't seen him in 15 years.
At any rate, he made his reservations a couple of months ago. Neither he nor I really made any special note of his fly date, until it dawned on us yesterday...the anniversary of...9ferking11!
Holy shit twobaggers...this could be serious, especially since he can't get his dough back. And more to the pointy point, after we have scrubbed this ferking house down to hide the fact that we NEVER scrub this house down...unless we smell health inspecters snooping around in the neighborhood. But, even that doesn't phase us much since we have three dogs, two cats, and a possible dead body in a Ford Escort trunk parked in our adjoining driveway, living next door (see this old post for clarification...or not).
We have decided the scenario could go in one of many directions.
Approximately 1200 miles is the distance he'll travel...medium long flight...certainly long enough for...well, you know. However, even though where I live is on a map, it's not exactly in daily headlines...except during crazed football season, of course. So, not too likely that suicidal zealots would want to take over the plane and crash it into a cornfield...or my house.
There IS the National Roller Skating Museum, and the Giant Rooster (8 feet) at Lee's Restaurant out there on west Van Dorn Street, but nothing worthy of national outrage if it were taken out. Besides, Lee's chicken is pretty damned good. Can't vouch for the Roller Skating Museum, though.
Most likely the spot would be somewhere between here and there...oh, such as...Branson, MO. Yep, great target.
Best I shut up about that...don't want to give them any ideas...I mean, everyone knows THEY don't have any ideas.
The conclusion we have come to is as follows:
Since my friend has a very Taliban type beard (see recent photo of my friend below) which he has been playing with and cultivating for about 93 years (fuck you Gillette)
...and since he is an accomplished, kick-ass, in-your-face-photographer (eat your heart out Mr. Charleston) who never travels without his 1,000 shots per minute Nikon with the mother of all mother telephoto lens which can take a picture of a rat's ass from 1200 miles away, in your basement...and given that he is slightly tan from sitting out in the Sun, in his backyard, taking telescopic gratuitous butt shots of young ladies at the beach...THREE miles away from his backyard!
What is most likely going to come down...he is going to get held up by our crack, Rent-A-Security apparatus at his originating airport. In fact he is possibly facing a trip to the eastern tip of Cuba. And, I will be sitting at the airport waiting for his arrival until next 9/11 anniversary.
My advice to him was, demonstratively pray a lot, IN THE NAME OF JESUS, out loud, while in the airport...wear one of those little waving American flag pin thingies like Obama's, on his tee-shirt, which says, Morans...and talk to strangers about how he gave the Reverend asswipe down there in Gainesville, Florida the idea to burn all them damned Kooooorans...and...brush up on his Spanish.
There is nothing else I can do for the man....but pray...nah!
