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The Steamboat McGoo thread

steamboatmcgoo.jpg

            The once was a steam-boatin’ man
            Who sported a show-boatin’ tan.
            The ladies said, “my!
            He’s as brown and as spry
            As that dream-boatin’ Ed McMahon!”


Steamboat McGoo is in the hospital being fitted with a shiny knew titanium knob. Here’s a helpful rhyming dictionary. Do it. Do it for McGoo.

sock it to me

July 12, 2007 — 6:32 pm
Comments: 27

What I Did on My Summer Vacation, by S. Weasel

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I’m back. And I don’t have anything in particular to say for myself, so let’s get right to it.

The journey happened more or less as predicted, with the interesting bits under the heading “or less.” Like the prop plane that flew the last leg across Tennessee. We were directed out on the tarmac, where half a dozen small twin engine planes were buzzing lazily in the sun. Ours was gray and grubby, without livery. I’m sure it carried ordinance in Dubya Dubya Eye Eye.

We had to walk up to it and climb steps, just like the old days. Huh. I just thought. The last time I flew into Tri Cities airport it was in a plane exactly like this one. I had an explosive nosebleed, which I usually did at altitude. It produced gratifying response in stewardesses, as they were called in another era. I was going to see my grandmother. I was seven.

Anyhow, after that — hey, did anybody spot the flaw in my master plan? We showed up boozeless and planned to buy liquor on the way up. On a Sunday. In rural Tennessee. The horrible realization that this was EXTREMELY unlikely didn’t dissuade us from driving to several liquor stores in panic and leaving greasy noseprints on the front door. The rest of the party weren’t expected up until the next morning, so there was nothing for it but…beer. You can buy beer in the grocery stores any time.

Now, I like the occasional beer, but as an inebriation vehicle, it sucks. The ratio of booze molecules to pee molecules is severely whack. I bought two six packs and only managed to down four beers. I was horribly sober after, but Jesus — that’s more liquid than it generally takes to bathe my person. I fell asleep at last and all night long I dreamed of urination. Everywhere I went in the dreamscape, I had a delightful, satisfying whizz. I didn’t pee the bed, but I gave the idea serious consideration.

So anyway, there wasn’t really time to go stand on my own grave. My cousin was like, “do you want to drive over and…you know. The usual?” And I’m like, “nah. We can just wave as we go by.”

The rest was fine. I guess. The liquor stores opened next morning and I don’t remember much after that.

sock it to me

— 5:56 pm
Comments: 10