Boomerangs and Babbies at the Beach

So, besides nuptials, other things were gotten up to on the Gulf Coast these last few weeks.

Innocent looking, but not to be trusted.

Got a boomerang lesson from some scooter-riding hottie. First rule of Boomerang Club: Don't talk about Boomerang Club. Second rule of Boomerang Club: If you see one coming for you, move. Quickly. 

In a moment that sort of sums up my entire experience here on Earth, I threw and caught a boomerang on the second try. The rest of the attempts ranged from mildly disastrous to injury inducing. That's me, folks. No real luck, no real skill, just the vague shadows of those things which give a false, cruel hope of betterment.

Got to eat lunch at Dee's Hangout--it was Fried Chicken Tuesday! Dee's holds the honor of being the only restaurant I deem worth ordering fried chicken or collards from--all the others are bullshit. Dee himself was on the premises, and made sure our large party got seated as quickly as possible. I would say I had the banana pudding, but the portion I took home mysteriously disappeared after I took two bites and put it in the fridge. Mysterious. . . .

I like ridiculous things, and so do my friends. I challenge you to watch this and prevent yourself from mimicking it. It's impossible.

Unfortunately, no locale is without its darker elements. NW Florida is no exception, and I and my family encountered some serious thuggery during my visit.

Two wild and crazy guys!

 Sure, at first they seemed friendly. Hell, we even invited them in. Big mistake.

Tricksy and slippery, this one.

 See that look in her eye? See how she's cleverly evading the grasp of authority? And what is her cohort doing?

Not a got-dayum thing. Because Slick there knows what's coming. It's all sweetness and light. . . until Babby Wants Something.

Say, old man. Are those ciggies and whiskey? Gimme a coffin nail and a cuppa, luv.

Perhaps you didn't hear me, good sir. Please quite trying to remove the heart meds and ciggies. BABBY WANTS A FIX!

Not only did the little fiend try to make off with the hooch and the smokes, but she pulled a Shiva-like transformation. Suddenly it was as if she had 8 arms, all making like Pete Townsend in a non-stop strike to gobble up the goodies.

This kid had run around, crawled on bare wood on her knees, busted her lip open the day before---all no problem. But when she didn't get her hooch? Oh, the wailing and gnashing of teeth. This child is a hooligan.

Wanted: One Juvenile Delinquent. Goes by "Octopus." Approach with caution, secure your alcohol, firearms, and medications. Watch for accomplice, also extremely short.

If you run into these two, don't bother appealing to the mother for help. She just laughs. And laughs. And laughs.

One of the highlights (or lowpoints) of my trip was my little bro's never ending supply of MST3K movies. He trotted out several gems from the post Joel years that I hadn't seen. (Jooooooeeeeeel!) One of these was Space Mutiny.  Egads. Highlights include:

*incredible slow speed chase with modified golf carts that probably gets up to 2.5 mph.
*bad editing that leads to the miraculous resuscitation of murdered cast
*guardrails, guardrails, guardrails
*Captain Santa Claus--most incompetent leader ever.
*age inappropriate make outs
*one of the most unlikely villain names ever
*a "star" is a muscle bound lad with the unlikely name of Dave Ryder. Mike and the Bots have some fun with alternate names for him.

It occurs to me that I am telling this story all out of order, but oh well.