As the sun sank slowly in the west somewhere near Galveston, Snuffy the Wonderdog (not pictured) wondered if NY NY’s mayor, Bill De Blasio, really liked his job. “True,” thought Snuffy,” he did run and win, but some people just can’t let go even if they don’t like the taste of what they have sunk their teeth into.”
As they left Wichita, Bob told his wife he had no need of the GPS–he could get to Galveston just fine by dead reckoning . . .
Chuck didn’t know if it was too much sun or too much beer, but suddenly his world was on tilt . . .
Since the budget cuts and downsizing–of both personnel and equipment–Clem had been forced to use a paddle board as his pilot boat to direct the super tankers and mega container ships to their docking site. He just didn’t feel he got the respect a pilot should have . . .
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 . . .
Eldridge was going to the karaoke Elvis night and thought he had a good chance at winning the best Elvis in Galveston. He had Heartbreak Hotel and Jailhouse Rock down cold and a really lifelike deep, resonant “Thenk yew very much.” Did he get the hair right though . . . ?
