Friday, February 5, 2010

Do You Really Want To Hurt Me?

Do you really want to make me cry?

Whoa, that great sigh of relief was your captain, finally able to again eat solid foods. It was a close one (1) oh faithful crew, but my amazingly resilient filament pulled me through. Monday night saw an epic attack on this old salt in the form of food poisoning. A mighty evacuating of all bodily fluids ensued, leaving a dehydrated, exhausted, and seasick sailor in its wake.
I floated adrift for about twelve (12) hours before luck threw me a life preserver in the form of Emetrol (a left-over from Summer's morning sickness days). The ailment yielded just in time to return my battered body to my post; and not a moment too soon, as the storm of the month is rolling in and threatening to create fantastic wintry conditions for next week's three (3) day weekend. All would be right in the world if it were not for the latest news from out west.

It seems the whole, "traveling with my brothers" tale Cory has spun was a clever ruse, designed to hide his true absence. It seems young Cory is actually an Olympic Figure Skating alternate and has been in Vancouver awaiting word on whether or not he will be called to the ice to represent America, and HypnoCoffee (of course) in the winter games. I only found out when Morgan called requesting information on the lateral strength of a man's knee. After consulting my well-worn Guantanamo Torture Manual, I called him back and inquired as to why such information was needed. A little drunk (10 a.m. Pacific), Morgan spilled the beans, and informed me Johnny Weir had edged Cory out of a slot, but that maybe a "slip" might call Cory up. I immediately alerted the US Figure Skating team, who apprehended Cory; and at last notice had sent him home under a figure skating-centric security escort. No more sequined uni-tards for you young Mr. Chase, a barista's apron from now on! I only hope the security escort aren't too hard on him...

1 comment:

Cory said...

Blimey! Morgue never was that good at holding onto his beans...

Its al(most) true. The details that Mo must have left out was that they cut me from the team becuase I *still* danced on thin ice waaaaaay better than the rest while using the same great tool that Rebagliati and Phelps used. No medal, sorry Davis...and America. Ruse/Failure is my middle name.

If I don't get caught gambling in Nevada I'll be on my way east shortly. The snow is coming down steadily in Tahoe...ah yeah!