Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo! I can't believe it! South didn't pick me!
He writes: "Well my first thought was how in the world could I possibly deny Goddess? but then reality hit me...I have no way to get her beloved hooveround or whatever that thing is called onto the boat...sorry Goddess you lost out to Frank...Who just said he wanted to go fishin."
Damn you, Frank!! Damn you and your brevity all to hell!!
I'm pissed. I even went out and bought a red, white and blue mu mu in keeping with a nautical theme!
One of these days, as sure as I'm sitting here in my Hoveround, I swear I am going to
show up at South's front door and ring his doorbell...............thenrunlikehell.
I can't wait! I can't wait! I can't wait! I ordered one of those picture CD's from Motor Cops
and it takes only 2-3 business days to arrive. AND it has over ONE THOUSAND PICTURES!!
I haven't been this excited since I ordered my laptop.
It's like a big shipment of porn and Christmas all rolled up into one!
Ok, here's the essay I submitted to Mike South. For those of you who don't read his site,
he's going fishing and he's offering to take one "lucky" (that's questionable, but we'll let it pass) person along.
Thing is you gotta get to Florida, pay for your fishing license AND bring spending cash. Pfft. I can buy tuna for
99 cents a can and I never have to leave the comfort of my Hoveround. Hmm, speaking of Hoverounds, I forgot to ask him if he had a life preserver that would fit around the Hoveround in case we both go overboard? Lord knows I'm not leaving land without it.
So here's my essay and I must say I think it has all the key elements: a full serving of drama,
seasoned with sadness and garnished with a sprig of hope.
Why I feel I should go fishing with you ….
"Several weeks ago the doctor confirmed that I had a disease. It’s called
“lazyazzitis.” Now it might not *sound* that bad, but he assured me I
will die with this disease. I’ve had it for several years now, and the
symptoms were evident, but I refused to see them. The constant
procrastinating, refusing to get out of bed for days on end and even the
fact that I would lay on the couch for hours watching that show you said
I can’t mention. They were all signs that I continued to ignore. The symptoms
got progressively worse and now it’s too late. I’m terminally lazy.
I feel that I should be the one you pick to go fishing because I would
have that one last chance to see the ocean before I succumb to this
illness. I could feel the sand beneath my feet--if you carried me down to
the beach, that is.
I’ve never caught a fish in my entire life, including the ones that have
jumped out of the goldfish bowl. Alas, I feel it was their fate to die on
the carpet. Who am I to interfere with God's plan?
Of course, you’ll have to bait my hook… and hold my fishing
rod and …take the fish off the hook for me. I’d do it myself, but you
know, the illness and all….
I also feel you should pay to fly me down to Florida and buy my fishing
license for me because apparently one of the side effects of the
prescription medication I take for “lazyazzitis” is “cheapazzitits,” and I’ve
contracted that, too, now. My only hope is that modern medicine will come
up with a cure for this soon, but I’m not holding my breath. It’s
pointless, and besides, it’s too much work.
All in all, I think I could make a valuable contribution to the trip. You
know, as long as it doesn’t require any effort or money on my part…..unlike this essay."
Now here's the kicker. After I sent this essay to South, I found out one guy just said he wanted to go because "he liked to fish."
I'm sitting here freaking worrying about syntax and he types "because I like to fish"!!!!
And I can guarontee you, he's not going to take ME! Well even if he picked me, most likely the disease
would kick in and well, who would do my packing? Certainly not I...