Wheel! Of! FISH!

SUCKAAAAAAAAAAA~!

2004-08-14 - 6:46 p.m.

Well, I'll be hornswoggled, cornponed, and other homespun things that sound vaguely like references to anal sex.

Charlie ... DITCHED us.

He had us all in a lather, panting with excitement as he got bigger and bigger, looming over us like a vengeful Titan, commanding the waves into SEVENTEEN-FOOT peaks, ascending to a full category 4 status that brought lustful whispers of "Andrew" to the fore ...

And then he ditched the entire Tampa Bay metroplex and headed south and then inland to lay some hell on hapless Punta Gorda and innocent Arcadia, all the way across to Daytona Beach, where he knocked over a few gas stations and then fled north with a sack full of small bills and Twinkies.

Man. We even mobilized the NATIONAL FUCKIN' GUARD up here. We were READY for this one. The radio station simulcast guy was broadcasting from inside the Sarasota EOC (an awesome acronym for what seems to be a gymnasium full of computers and county-staff IT professionals overseen by weekend generals), we had plywood nailed across all our vulnerable orifices, and we were just READY to lay back and think of England while Charlie had his way with us.

And he dissed us. For the SOUTH. And INLAND Florida.

Bastard swine.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not at all UNHAPPY that a category 4 hurricane did not barrel into the Bay area like a bullet train from the Second Circle. If it had even given us a good brush-by, our house would've been flattened into a modern art display suitable for headlining an exhibit entitled "Shortcut Construction and Man's Inhumanity to Renters". And I don't think that even my cunning system of putting all my electronics up on the desk and covering them with two tablecloths and a rain poncho would've saved us then.

I must admit, however, to a sense of ... consternation, perhaps, at being forced by the State to scurry like a terrified lemur into the night, leaving behind almost everything I hold dear, to go to Sudakoff (which, by the way, was completely EMPTY when we arrived, and I'd like to have the campus policeman who told me on the phone that it was "completely full" horsewhipped, castrated, and left to die in the road) and sleep on a carpet that had all the gentle give of a pan of granite and shale and listen to an endless babble as New College faculty and staff leaked in over the course of the day.

At least I skagged a bag of Doritos left by the Red Cross.

So, in short, we're fine here in North Sarasota. Our power never even went off, and we didn't quite get an inch of rain. God's Wrath thundered overhead and went rocketing on, to take the firstborn in other villages, warded off by the duct tape crosses left in every window by the hopeful praying masses.

And, of course, now that we have most of our belongings in total disarray ANYWAY, now's as good a time as any to start packing. Lots to do. Got worldly possessions to mail. Got addictions to feed. Got bills to pay. Got weathermen to kill.

I've also got a REALLY, REALLY spectacular story, but you can fucking choke on it and wait like good little monkeys while I finish sorting out my marbles into "play marbles" which are packed in one bag and "ammunition", which are packed with my wrist rocket.

Wouldn't want to lose any of those, now would I?