Gonzalo, bald from his twenties, finally gave in to his wife and tried the black toupee. He thought it looked fake, it was hard to keep straight, and he couldn’t help but think of the Bette Midler song, “You are the wind beneath my wig” when the darn thing came loose on the edges while flying . . .
Known for being always ready with a good line for the chicks and the political savvy of a Tammany Hall ward heeler or a Chicago “Community Organizer,” Jimmy was a smooth operator. When he saw the ad for a crane operator, he thought he might have found just the thing, but he was somewhat disappointed with the reality of having to go to work early every day . . .
Jozef didn’t care why some people thought that naming a football or basketball team after some ethnic group was offensive–he didn’t care–who understood human logic anyway? As self-appointed PR guy for the “Butterfly Nation” he was pretty sure his offer of “The Gulf Fritillaries” for a Galveston team wouldn’t fly, but how about the “Butterflies”? He could move faster and was more agile than any running back he had ever seen, and no one else was using the name . . .
Karl and Claudia were disappointed; while summering in northern Wisconsin, they had heard that there were shovel ready jobs in Texas, and so migrated early. Even though they were Northern Shovelers by birth (hatching?) and had their own shovels, there were no jobs; all the funding had been spent on Solyndra.
As John Lenny, visiting London from Texas, looked at the beautifully ornate cannon, he couldn’t help but think, “A little less bling and better sights would probably have gotten the job done back in 1776.”
After finding a patch of pretty good loco weed, the party got rolling along quite nicely until Harold started his “Call me Tiger” routine. The girls said, “You ain’t a big cat from India, and you’re certainly not a famous golfer–you’re just big old Harold with a bad dye job . . .”
