So sayeth Cheech & Chong.
I asked for a link to the “Save the Manatee” website because it was a Thursday and I had a guilty conscience. I wanted a cause and felt honor-bound to support a Florida icon. So I clicked on the link and took a step into Sea Cow Mania. And was slapped in the face with a “Special Message from Jimmy Buffet”. I fucking HATE Jimmy Buffet. Frickin’ Margaritaville, Who’s-gonna-steal-the-peanut-butter crap! He sucks. Out loud. (I blame my ex-stepfather for playing this shit on an endless loop along with James Taylor [I’m just a chilidog…. what?] and even worse: Phoebe Snow. I would rather gouge my eardrums out with a rusty nail file than hear that damn Poetry Man song again.) Side note about Jimmy Buffet: My friend Cynthia has it in her head that her uncle is my soul mate (I know, uncle, right? I’m only two years older than she is…). One day we were at The Grove and we went into Tommy Bahamas (or whatever it’s called) and we were surrounded by various degrees of hideous Hawaiian shirts (now I’m not anti-Hawaiian shirt. Seventh grade I was all about the Hawaiian shirt). She turned to me and said, “My uncle would love this store.” My immediate response: “Is he a Parrot Head?” (Parrot Head is a fanatical Jimmy Buffet fan…freaks.) And she said, “Yes, he loves Jimmy Buffet!” “Well, he’s not my soul mate.” There are some things I am willing to over look in a mate but not that. No way. I think I would rather my soul mate be a transvestite. Now back to the manatees. This “Special Message” really stopped me. Is my love for the manatees greater than my hate for Buffet? I had to step back. So I searched “Save the Lemurs”. (I also have a love for lemurs since they are native to Madagascar and my parents met in Madagascar.) And who endorses the saving of lemurs? John Cleese! I grew up watching Monty Python’s Flying Circus and Fawlty Towers on PBS. Cleese rules. This is when I had the sad realization that I am willing to let animals live or die based solely on their celebrity friends.
Amenities of Room 1116: Wadded up Hawaiian shirts. TV with one PBS channel. An ice bucket of shallow decisions.
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