Urine a heap of trouble now...

Wow…I didn’t get much sleep last night. Tossing and turning, all night long. Guess I’m excited about the road trip this morning.

Yesterday, I wasn’t so sure about all of this. The Editor at that daily local newspaper that forbids me from mentioning their name in this blog wasn’t too happy that I was headed off for an unknown amount of time. Finally, I offered that we would use old Route 66 and I would send back daily dispatches from the road. You know, do features from “America’s Highway” just like everybody else does.

He considered that for a while, agreed that it’s been overdone, but then declared it was a “grand” idea. Guess if it’s been done and done successfully it’s safe. So here I go…a road correspondent. I have my trench coat and beat up fedora.

Driving Route 66 means a slower trip, but we have until Monday afternoon to get there so I think we’re okay.

Oh, and there’s the RV that Friend Lamont laid his hands on. It has 329,000 miles, but the engine sounds okay. It has decent tires and Friend Lamont assures us that the septic tank is empty. We filled potable water last night and a bunch of food stuff.

Also loaded up some Goat Chow for Lassie the barking goat, though he seems to prefer ham on rye with Swiss – hold the mustard. Goats are pretty flexible that way.

Waiting for Cousin Fred to finish getting ready so we can go. He loaded the entire catalog of Laurel & Hardy movies on DVD last night. All 107, plus the 20 foreign films they made. Guess that’s for inspiration as we’re discussing our strategy for our reality show, which we’re now calling Naked & Untamed.

It’s gonna be great, you’ll see.

And speaking of weird realities…I came across an article on the Huffington Post site last night that I just have to share.

Believe it or not, the photo above is actually a mug shot. She looks pretty normal don’t you think? Eh, not so much.

Cue the theme from Dragnet…

Hard to believe, but Goldilocks (above) is a lot like our favorite state representative Sally Kern…batshit crazy!

Now let me set a scene for you here. You’re working retail. It sucks, but it’s a job and you’re living on the Redneck Riviera of Northwest Florida so life isn’t all that bad. Plus, it’s a slow day retail-wise. You’re just killing time waiting for five o’clock so you can get the hell out of there and head home to dive into a bag of Frito’s Scoops and a twelve-pack of Jax Beer (it’s a Florida thing).

You see Goldilocks come through the door of your store and think to yourself, “Eh, she looks pretty normal. I’ll go back to neatly folding the panties in the bargain bins (it kills time until you can get out of there…duh) and checking my Facebook page to see who has a birthday today.”

After a while, you notice her coming out of the dressing room near the front and head
straight for the door. You call out, “Have a nice day!”

Then you notice Goldilocks left the door open on the dressing room. Store policy insists that the doors be kept closed (it looks neater…keep up, people).

You amble over to shut the door, only to find several anti-theft tags on the floor along with a cellphone and a puddle of urine…IT’S A WET CRIME SCENE.

Cue the theme from Dragnet…

The fuzz show up and find Goldilocks’ husband’s number on the phone. They call it. He answers and gives them a description of the vehicle she’s driving. What an ass!?

Cops begin sweeping through the parking lot of outlet mall and find the car with Goldilocks inside (probably asleep). Inside they find several pairs of designer jeans from Saks Fifth Ave and a bunch of costume jewelry and blouses from the Ann Taylor store where she peed.

The cops read her rights, after which she happily admits to stealing everything and peeing on the floor and on some other merchandise too (marking turf, I reckon).

She gets hauled off to the pokey where idiot (and probably confused) husband posts a $5,000 bond and gets her released.

This begs a LOT of questions. Like, how did she get all that crap out of those stores without being noticed? And, what the hell possessed her to pee on the floor and merchandise on the floor of the dressing room?

We at CCB may have to launch an investigation into this. I’ll contact some people down there and see if we can get an update.

In the meantime, Cousin Fred is ready to roll. The Wife has locked herself in the bedroom and I can smell the acrid odor of unfiltered Pall-Malls. Soon she’ll be singing “My Philadelphia Home.”
 
 

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