JACKO'S LIMO
The whole point of going all the way the hell down to the most remote point of land on the East Coast is to be able to drive around on the beaches, scare children, run down plover nests and suchlike. To do that properly, you need an authentic beach jalopy, preferably a Jeep Grand Wagoneer from way back in the last century, preferably one you found in the condition of a Baghdad taxicab, and not a green-zone one, either. One that's basically a rust outline of what you want to end up with. Then you spend a year or so making it presentable, mostly on Sunday mornings, time your wife believes is better spent in church, but such people will never understand that Sunday mornings are the ideal time to work on projects. Besides, God understands that a beautifully-restored beach buggy is a sacred object. Once it's finished, the only thiing left to do is invite a portly artist friend for a weekend at the beach and then watch in amusement as he applies sunscreen to every inch of porcelain-white flesh except for his feet. He forgot his feet. Within hours Sissy City Boy is whining and howling like a Mexican Jumping Scallop. Now that's entertainment.
Sparky Donatello
9 Comments
Reader Comments (9)
You can always tell the city boys at the beach. They never think of the tops of their feet.
or their scalps and/or ears!
But "Virginia is for plovers". isn't it? Don't people flock to see them strolling wing-in-wing by the light of the moon on the beach? What about your tourist industry? What about statriotism? This must be the Virginian equivalent of shooting wolves from a helicopter with semiautomatic weapons.
Sorry about your toes, Walt. That's really too bwahahahahad.
While Virginians are indeed genteel and civilized, the Outer Banks lies over the border in the land of the braying, fornicating Carolinians, whose naked greed and sour barbeque cause the sons and daughters of Jefferson to blush demurely. But, when in Rome...
Note to Dr. Research: no, I didn't actually go to Rome. This is what's called an allusion.
"...braying, fornicating Carolinians"
You really must find a way to use that in your Sunday feature. (If you avoid mentioning Tarheels or Carolina blue, you can always tell any critic it's the *other* Carolina you're referring to.) Find a way to weave in Jesse Helms and you could single-handedly save newspapers.
I don't know, Dr. Research. The Carolinians might not be as genteel as they are in surprising Suffolk about demanding a sketchbook correction.
I am sure they will insist they've never brayed or fornicated, not once.
Perfect in every respect
Man you are living large. What. Is like your whole life a vacation? I won't be surprised if you pop out of our suitcases in Spain. Bastard.
Nice Wagoneer tho.
Yeah, I'm a large liver. Just make sure you poke a few holes in that large black nylon one.