OT: (Octoberfest Topic)
Proggy's run north. Post 3 of 3 (epilog)
Proggy? "I have to go" (you're just smiling and waving at the girls). They know your name. "Hey Prognosticator!" one sings teasingly. "Alan Greenspan - upward bias!" another one laughs.
You say, "You go back without me, JC". I say, "I need the deposit money on the growlers" "..and one of those crabs", I add. "I need an ATM" you reply without turning your head.
It was then that we learned that these girls weren't HSU coeds at all, but mermaids; beautiful Lemurian mermaids. "We have a 20 foot Zodiac on the other side of those rocks" one motions. "With a pony keg of Red Nektar!" another one sings. The third spoke directly to me with a haunting, "Your wife won't mind!".
Leaving the truck in Trinidad, we all climb into the rescue boat. "Now, we just need to get to an ATM" I said nervously.
The girls brought out crystal 'yard' glasses and filled them with ale. The twin screws propelled us through the surf. Suddenly, all around us was the soundtrack to The Who's Quadraphenia playing loud and digitally re-mastered in THX.
"Great beer!" you yell through the noise. "What?!" I reply, not hearing you. "GREAT BEER!" you repeat pointing to your crystal yard glass, Red Nektar splashing about with the motion of the boat in open ocean. "My ATM card is at home on the TV" you say. I don't hear you and just nod.
The last thing I remember was trying to use my phone (to call my wife) and being out of range.
Suddenly we're in a Cessna 182 in position to take off from the Shelter Cove airstrip. Neither of us know the pilot. His name is Bob and he's an ex-CHP pilot. All around us are emmaculatly packed plastic bags with an earthly pungent odor. "We may be a few pounds over" the pilot (Bob) yells as he throttles up full toward the cliffs of the rocky point. "What the..!" we're both thinking to ourselves.
"We can lose him" Bob assures us. "Lose who?" you question urgently. Bob points back toward a green helicoptor pursuing us. "C.A.M.P." Bob says matter of factly. "That's a Huey Cobra!" I point out. Bob notices our luggage; our one last growler of Alleycat Amber ale. "Mind if I...?" Bob motions toward the ale. "It's for my wife" I said clearly. Suddenly I became distracted by the automatic weapon bullet noises zinging by us from behind. When I turned back around toward Bob, he had already opened the growler and chugged nearly a third of the half gallon. "Hey!" I said angrily snatching it back away. "Relax" Bob said to both of us. "They're circling back". "What?" you ask looking backward. "They're strictly contract" Bob chuckles.
Landing nonchalantly at the San Jose airport I'm rushed and we're distancing ourselves as fast as we can away from Bob and the Cessna. "Proggy, you have 20 minutes to get to your house, get your ATM card, get the Growler deposit money back to me so I can somehow fly 200 miles BACK north, get the yellow Pokemon truck, and race home before Sugar Magnolia starts worrying. "We're those really Lemurian mermaids?" you ask me dreamily. "Here, you call my wife and tell her we're near Genentech and are having truck problems. "Tell her I'll see her in 5 hours after the part comes in or something". "From Genentech?" you ask. "No! From some... nevermind, just tell her I'll see her in 5 hours and that I got her a thing of that Sudwerks beer in Davis". You watched as I filled the missing volume of Ale from the one third empty growler with water and peeled off the Duane Flatmo artwork. "Trust me. She'll really appreciate it" I said anxiously before making a beeline for a fortunately Arcata bound United Express feeder plane. "Hey what's the SUNW conference call number?!" you yell. "I don't know - email investor relations!" I advised.
Getting home, Sugar Magnolia was appreciative for the pilsner (wink wink). "So?" she asks probingly, seeking what information I obtained regarding the possible investment in Organogenesis. I shook my head and gave her the bad news; "The HMOs won't cover it".
The end <g>
-JCJ
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