Thursday, May 18, 2006

San Francischronicles, Chapter 7.

A Happy Ponderance. An Happy Ponderance? Whatever.

I believe that this will be my new mantra.

Action shot of me drinking! Rebecca's look of concern is well founded. Two nights previous, somehow I drank too much at The Mucky Duck(an awesome bar- great bartender and very friendly neighborhood "needy queers"- that's what the bartender called our new friend Ray, who got any number of free drinks from us. Also, I'm not sure if he was gay, seeing as how much he hit on Rebecca. Although he did tell me he'd marry me right now.) and remember very little of getting back to the hotel.

Um... I have, like, ten more pictures exactly like this.

On the ferry to Sausalito. If I look hard, it's because I am. Don't fuck with my gangsta stroll. Y'heard?

Lost m'teeth in a fishin' 'ccident. Y'can tell I'm still angry 'bout it, too. Death came slow to that damned sturgeon, and even slower for the albatross that caused all the trouble in the first place. Never leave shore without a welding iron, Mama used t'say. I'll take those words to m'grave.


Staring down crabs in Sausalito. You'd be surprised at how easily they back down. They don't call them Cowards of the Sea for nothing.

Rebecca's twin sister, Carlita, The Russian Spy. Directly after this picture was taken, Carlita was discovered by the Port Authority taking photographs of the ship's hull with a small camera inside a ring on her finger. In a quick moment of indecision, she swallowed a cyanide pill given to her for this very instance. But then, she realized she had her rocket boots on. Perhaps she was not aware of the very devastating effects of cyanide, and believed she could fly to safety and rid her body of the deadly poison. Unfortunately, moments after she took flight, her body went limp and she sailed around the bay like a deflating balloon. The Port Authority immediately cordoned off the bay and began waiting for the boots to run out of fuel and bring Carlita down. They'll probably be there for a while. The boots were fueled by a highly concentrated mix of Uranium-238 and vodka.

1 comment:

Allie D. said...

Was it a good potato vodka? It burns much more cleanly, which is importantly in a progressively liberal, environmentally friendly city like SF.