The Web Wander got me on a Roadkill kick this week with this plug:
RNN Home Page - Roadkills-R-Us, Toys "R" Us has no sense of humor about this page.
Most of us know Roadkill as a roadside cafe from its menu. I first discovered it as the only tasteless T-shirt in a Christian gift shop (of course, I immediately purchased it). After extensive research I've discovered: It's a bird. It's a plane. No, it's superman. Sorry, wrong story.
It's a movie - ROADKILL.
It's a guy - The Adventures of Roadkill Guy.
It's a band - Roadkill on the InfoBahn....
It's a T-shirt - Roadkill.
It's a domain? http://www.roadkill.com/
BTW: It's also a brewery that I feel a need to personally check out - RoadKill Brewery.
We decided to wait for Pat pool side and immediately began serious drinking. All that talk about road kill had dulled our appetites.
The hotel has named their drinks after presidents. Web goes for the "Richard Nixon," a double scotch with beer chaser. Igor has a "Jimmy Carter," a Pepsi with two cherries. The waiter kept asking if we wanted a "Bill Clinton" and laughing maniacally.
A man, appearing from nowhere and looking worse than most New York street bums, comes to our table and screams, "They're after me. You've got to hide me."
Web: " I think you have the wrong table. We didn't order the 'Bill Clinton.' Try another table."
Somewhere Man: "I know the truth about the crash. They want to silence me."
Pat Buchanan joins us and our visitor dives under the table.
Pat: "Who's cowering under the table? Did you guys order the 'Bill Clinton?'"
Igor: "We thought he was with you."
Our new found companion climbs up into a chair and explains he is the only survivor of the ill-fated TWA Flight 800. It seems the explosion was the work of a Wall Street conspiracy. After taking a blood bath on the ValuJet stock, they've sold the major airline stocks short and are in the process of driving down the stock values. The TWA crash was just one in a series of planned events.
Three thugs wearing suits, dark glasses and ear pieces are questioning patrons on the other side of the pool. A waiter stops at our table and the stranger tries to order a "Bill Clinton." Web shouts, "There's no time for that now!" and snatches a towel from the waiter. Wrapping the towel around the stranger's head, Web pulls him to his feet and announces to the other patrons, "The Great Gordo has agreed to perform his death defying underwater escape."
As we take "The Great Gordo" to the edge of the pool and tie him into a chair, Igor takes over working up the crowd. In the background the thugs continue their search.
Having finished tying him into the chair with more towels, we toss "The Great Gordo," chair and all, into the pool. At the sound of the splash, the thugs glance in our direction but take their now futile search elsewhere.
Web: "I think The Great Gordo's has had enough pool time for today. Igor, fetch him out."
Igor: "Why do I always have to do the dirty work?"
Turning to herd Pat back to the table for more serious drinking, Web accidentally bumps Igor into the pool with an elbow to the kidney.
Back at the table Pat and Web order another round as their two water-logged companions slosh up to rejoin them.
The stranger introduces himself as Home Simpson and orders a "Bill Clinton." The waiter returns with a tall glass of white water and bourbon, a side order of waffles, a vase of Jennifer Flowers with a woman chaser and explains, "Sorry sir, there's a back log in the kitchen. The rest should be here in a Mena, I mean minute."
Chapter Eight: "Dole: Dead man campaigning" or "Clinton: Cabinet full of pot."
Reader E-mail:
From: Jim Bergsten <bergsten@arkres.com>
Subject: Stinking lies com...
...article (stinking refers to lies.com,
not the article, but I digress) is from May 26th. Were they arrested, or
did they leave the planet or what? I've been referring people to you via
lies.com, obviously way out of date. What instead?
This appears to be an offer I can't refuse. With that in my mind, I suggest:
The Web Walker's Shameless Self Serving Plugs.
This is a web page with links to old stuff I remember I wrote and new stuff I remember to link.
It was a dark and stormy night. The distinctive plop, plop, plop sound coming from the right rear wheel can mean only one thing, a flat tire. Clark Kent, mild mannered reporter for a large metropolitan newspaper, opens the drivers side door and steps out of his Chevolet from which he had been seeing the USA.
As fate would have it, Clark finds himself unloading jack and lug wrench in front of a mental institution. No! Not the White House, the nut house. Anyway, our hero jacks and he wrenches and finally he has the tire off.
Returning to the trunk of the car, Clark drags the spare tire out from under the body of Jimmy Hoffa. "I really need to do something about him," Clark thinks to himself.
Kneeling to put the spare on the axle, Clark places a knee in the hubcap where he carefully placed the lugs nuts earlier. This turns the hubcap into a miniature catapult and launched the nuts (lug not institutional) into the creek below where a coyote is washing off a robin.
From behind the fence across the road, a nut (institutional not lug) suggests, "Why don't you take one nut from each of the other three wheels, secure the spare and drive into town for replacements?"
Clark replies, "That's brilliant. Why would they lock up a genius like you?"
To which, Homer, our lunatic, replies, "I'm not in here because I'm stupid. They locked me up because I know who blew up TWA Flight 800 and I know where they hid this week's URL's."
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July 21, 1996 |
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