I dedicate this post to my eldest bro, Dan...who both confuses and inspires.
See comment from previous post if you are as confused as you're going to be...
1. First of all, explain the ancient Zapotec medical practices you used to cure your Solar Urticaria in June of 2003, and why did you make me travel hundreds of miles through rough, scorpion-infested country to a plywood roadside tienda two kilometers outside of Compuertas, Mexico, and buy seven (seven) dragon fruit from that horrible old snake charmer with the cat-skull bolo tie and pink top hat? She was an alarming women, let me tell you.
For the Solar Urticaria, it's simple--
I merely kept myself on a regimen of 15 slices of the Zapotec heirloom tomato every 3 hours. Grilled, with a little roosa oil. As you know, tomatoes, when eaten, have protecting properties against the Sun's effects. With some anti-histamine shooters as a cleanser.
I HAD to have the seven dragon fruit because man cannot live on tomatoes alone. The licopene and anti-histamine overload was breaking down my immune system and I needed the antioxidants. Plus, they taste yummy on cheerios.
I mean really, I had to RENT a ’79 Ford Granada with gold spinners and an aftermarket spoiler for two-hundred and fifty bucks in Naco, drive that rattling death trap across 110 degree desert, and then I had to pay a cop some hefty la mordida to get those nasty fruits back across the border, and when I finally got back to SLC and took ‘em to your place, you just said, “thanks Dannyboy” and slammed the door in my face. I have to admit, I never saw the red boils on your ears again, so I guess it was worth it, but no explanation at all? Not the first time, either, I might add.
Why did I send you to the horrible old snake charmer with the cat-skull bolo tie and punk top hat? I just thought that would be funny. And it was. I laugh every time I think about how you came back smelling like the inside of a rotting pork and bean can...which, I might add is why I had to turn you away. I was suffering enough. The stunned look on your face was hilarious. I was especially tickled as I watched you walk away with tears in your eyes, mumbling something about staring into the face of Medusa and being fed cat belly. Ha. It was worth it. After all, laughter was the best medicine.
2. You could also tell us what you think the REAL cause of death was for Michael Jackson, The King of Pop, and why you think I give a crap.
Too much carbonation.
You should give a crap because just think of where the world would be without the Moon Walk.
3. So. What do you think of miniature bibles and haircuts and compressed air pogo sticks? Just curious.
Mini bibles are cool. You just can't take a regular sized bible with you on bike rides or to the zoo.
I give haircuts two solid thumbs up and I know Fonzi would agree.
I'm down with compressed air pogo sticks so long as who ever rides one falls off and someone is there to video tape it.
4. I’ve been hearing rumors about the Duchesne Redneck Ninja League that’s been training in the mountains north of your house. I hear dey got mad skilz. You seen any around? I hear they prefer lifted Ford trucks and baseball caps and Levis, and they often use dogs as early warning systems and perimeter security.
These are just the drunk Indians that were thrown out of the Uintah White Trash Spartan Crew. They were mad. I mean, wouldn't you be? They figured since they have the U.S. government in their back pocket that they should be allowed in such groups.
As far as their skills...You would actually be pretty impressed at how well they rassle after downing 4 1/2 jugs of Irish single malt.
Incidentally, if there was ever a battle between a ninja and a Spartan, the Spartan would win every time.
So says Deadliest Warrior.
5. And you know, thinking back, I never heard the story of what happened when you were attending Westminster College, and took that excursion to the old pirate haven of Amelia Island in Florida, to do research with the anthropology department and the Westminster College Mustache Club. The Mustache Club!?
What was it that you found on that creaky old Victorian plantation? And why did you spend a week after you got back curled up in the fetal position on the couch, mostly asleep and talking about the Dry Tortugas and Kingfisher sloop in your fevered dreams? What do parched turtles and little birds have to do with anything?
Look. It wasn't a big deal. I was in the Enviro Bio class. We went on one of our weekly field trips up the Wasatch Mountains. There was this guy all dressed in khaki at the top asking for volunteers to search for the glass eye of his great-great-great-great-great grandma--who was, coincidentally, the great pirate queen Iron Eliza Sophie McPhearson. He promised 500,000 doubloons to whoever found the eye.
I was the first to volunteer. You see, I had been to Amelia Island before. The Man in Khaki didn't remember me. Right after high school, I was recruited by his uncle to make the same excursion. We had gotten so close back then and I had a pretty good idea of where the glass eye was.
Our group needed to be secretive. With Cuba to the south and Georgians to the north, we had to be sneaky. The Stache Club (as we called it back then) came because, really, men in mustaches are creepy and people generally stir clear of them. The fact that they had a couple women in the club was even more to our benefit. Plus, they didn't get invites to many places.
Maybe it was pity.
Maybe it was just a clever ruse.
You can put the rest together. Yes, I did find the glass eye of Iron Eliza. I decided I could get more than the Man in Khaki wanted to pay. So I planned on taking it to a private collector I found in New Jersey. Unfortunately, I lost it in a Poker game to a guy named Crazy Burt Bellamy.
Four of a kind over my straight.
Strangely, the next morning, the Man in Khaki was polishing up the eye and wearing Crazy Burt's snake skin handkerchief around his neck.
Crazy Burt didn't make the trip back to land of Deseret with the rest of us. But we all knew what happened to him.
The Dry Tortugas...the Kingfisher sloop...the pieces fit.
It could have been me...
...if I had been better at Poker.