| RANDOM QUOTE | Forget your stupid theme park! I'm gonna make my own! With hookers! And blackjack! In fact, forget the theme park!
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| GURT BEEFROW |  | Category: Social
Monday, November 22nd, 2004 @ 10:13 pm
|
 Saturday,
after some especially good vittles had at Magazine Street's one and
only Slim Goodies, we decided to retire to the house of SCandAL for a
night cap or twelve.
While walking along the red brick walk up to their door, I heard a
faint pop and a small squeal from Alison.
Something on the order of "not again, that's the third one!" came Scott's reply.
Utterly confused and wanting to know what the hell just happened, I gingerly inquired, "what the hell just happened?"
I was then treated to a brief
explanation about Alison's despicable habit of crushing poor, defenseless
snails that are haplessly sucking the mold off the brick walkway.
I know, disgusting, but I found it in my heart to forgive her, so
should you. After that we went inside and drank ourselves to the edge of
oblivion. Not smoking while getting drunk puts an odd edge on the
experience that I haven't quite gotten control of fully.
Hopefully it's just the physical withdrawal, which will fade with time.
Anyway, In a moderately unrelated story, I had tentative plans the next day to
have a little breakfast with Scott and Alison while the little missus
was out with one of her friends doing girly crap. While waiting
for the breakfast to get going, I was in the "garden", weeding my new
found pride and joy, my budding pumpkin patch, when lo, I discovered a
quite gargantuan interloper: a large snail was enjoying quite the
mildew buffet on the bricks encircling my beloved pumpkin patch.
While squatting there staring at this snail, I had one of those
epiphanies where, in the span of a single second, you crossreference
ten different loose ends in your head all at the same time and come up
with a single solution that solves a miriad of problems. As if you
formulated the theory of relativity as a by product of inventing a way
of turning water in to Wild Turkey with 29 cents worth of
equipment. Well, that's what it felt like at the time, but in
actuality it was more like this:
"Man, I could toally give that snail to Alison to help her atone for her horrible genocidal actions against all of snail-kind!"
The sheer genius of the situation was signed, sealed and delivered when
I needed to come up with a name for the little guy. A half wrong
remembered name from some movie that had been floating around in my
head all morning. You know, when you have this wispy half memory
that's basically a string of sounds floating around in your head
refusing to let you concrete the memory in your mind, much less let you
remember its origin? Yeah, that kind of memory. The kind
that drives you nuts for hours on end until you finally pin it
down. Instead of letting it bug me any longer, I would exorcise
this thought by externalizing it. Thus I christened this snail:
Gurt Beefrow
I went to affix a plaque to his new habitat, one that would boldly
proclaim the rightful name of the occupant, but the only plaque making
supplies I had at the time were masking tape and a sharpie, so it ended
up being much less bold than previously thought... the result can be seen in the image accompanying this post.
The unfortunate part of this is when SCandAL arrived to go to breakfast,
an uncomfortable turn of events had begun, and I had to decline on
breakfast and settle for just handing Gurt off to his new owners.
Godspeed Gurt Beefrow. Godspeed.
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