Gator A-GO-GO

Has a whole year already flown by? Much to report! Let’s get to it!

Number one: I ended a war.

You guessed correct, the War on Christmas! When I first heard about it, I said to Coleman, “That’s just not right! We must enlist!” I rushed to the front lines, running downtown yelling “Merry Christmas” at everyone I saw. And they’re all saying “Merry Christmas” back. Hmmm. That’s odd: Nobody’s stopping us from saying “Merry Christmas.” Then I did some research, and it turns out the real war is against people saying “Happy holidays.” The nerve: trying to be inclusive. So, everyone…

Merry Christmas! Happy Hannukah! Good times! Soul Train! Purple mountain majesties! The Pompatus of Love!

There. War over. And just before it became a quagmire.

Next: Decline of Florida Roundup.

– They tore down the Big Bamboo Lounge near Orlando. Where was everybody on that one?

– Remember the old “Big Daddy’s” lounges around Florida with the logo of that bearded guy? They’re now Flannery’s or something.

– They closed 20,000 Leagues. And opened Buzz Lightyear. I offered to bring my own submarine. Okay, actually threatened, but they only wanted to discuss it in the security office. I’ve been doing a lot of running lately at theme parks.

– Here’s a warm-and-fuzzy. Anyone who grew up down here knows this one, and everyone else won’t have any idea what I’m talking about: that schoolyard rumor of the girl bitten by a rattlesnake on the Steeplechase at Pirate’s World (now condos). I’ve started dropping it into all conversations with mixed results.

– In John Mellencamp’s megahit “Pink Houses,” the guy compliments his wife’s beauty by saying her face could “stop a clock.” Doesn’t that mean she was butt ugly? Nothing to do with Florida. Just been bugging me.

Good news alert! I’ve decided to become a children’s author! Instilling state pride in the youngest residents may be the only way to save the future. The book’s almost finished. I’ve only completed the first page, but the rest just flows after that. It’s called Shrimp Boat Surprise. Coleman asked what the title meant, and I said life is like sailing on one big, happy shrimp boat. He asked what the surprise was, and I said you grow up and learn that life bones you up the ass ten ways to Tuesday. He started reading and asked if a children’s book should have the word “motherfucker” eight times on the first page. I say, absolutely. They’re little kids, after all. If you want a lesson to stick, you have to hammer it home through repetition… In advance: Happy New Year! (Unlike 2008-ouch!)

DAYTONA BEACH

Serge and the gang pulled out of town as a custom motor coach rolled in.

Male motorists honked at the bus, as they always did wherever it went, because of the topless women painted on the side with strategically positioned CENSORED labels.

Someone near the front of the bus hung up a phone and walked to the back. He knocked on the RV’s rear suite with circular bed.

Other side of the door: “Not now.”

“Sir, it’s important.”

The door opened a crack. Camera lights. Seventeen-year-olds. Rood stuck his head out. “Can’t it wait?”

“Sir, we’ve been sued again by parents. Ten million dollars. This time they said she was sixteen.”

“So handle it like you always do.”

“Sir, that was Charley. He quit. Remember?”

“Bastard!” Rood fumed at the thought of his former chief assistant walking out in Panama City. “After all I did for him.”

“What do you want me to do?”

Rood looked back. “Guys, get the dildos.” He stepped outside and closed the door. “Offer five hundred thousand, the cost of doing business.”

“I don’t think they’ll take it. Pretty mad.”

“Their lawyer will get them to take it.”

“Their lawyer’s booked them on TV.”

“Everyone has a price,” said Rood. “You make an appointment to see him and negotiate.”

“But I’m not an attorney.”

“Not as a lawyer. A potential client.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He’s only going to get a third of the five hundred K we’re offering to settle for, which is why he won’t take it.” Rood lit a fat cigar. “So you say your company’s staff attorney is a fuck-up and you want to hire him on retainer. Million a year.”

“What does my company do?”

“I don’t give a shit. Widgets, copper mines.”

“But he won’t have any work to do.”

“He’ll know that.” Smoke rings drifted toward the ceiling. “It’s a legal bribe.”

The assistant coughed. “Isn’t that unethical?”

“That’s why it’ll work.”

“Won’t he wonder that I walked in out of the blue?”

“Tell him you admire his lawsuit-that you hate my guts and am glad to see I’m getting what’s due.” Another big puff. “Say you hope he can wrap up a settlement in my case fast, a week tops, because your company needs him available right away or you’ll have to go somewhere else. Then he’ll be ready to accept my lowball five hundred K offer.”

“He’ll buy that?”

“No, he’ll see right through it. But it’ll give him plausible deniability… Put out your hand.” The assistant did.

Rood tapped an ash into it. “Can’t fail.”

“But you don’t even know this guy.”

“He’s a lawyer.”

“What about the girl?”

“Fuck her.”

Squealing behind the suite’s door.

Rood grabbed the knob. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Filming continued as the bus pulled into the parking lot of a luxury resort.

“Here.” Rood handed the girls a presentation case. “Use the ben wa balls.”

Suddenly, a screeching of cars all around the bus. Loud voices.

“Cut!” yelled Rood. He left the suite and headed toward the front of the coach. “What the hell’s all that racket?”

“Sir,” said his assistant. “They’re here again.”

“Who is?”

They leaned toward side windows. Middle-aged women in the parking lot, waving picket signs and yelling.

“How’d they find us so fast?”

“Don’t know, sir.”

“Son of a bitch.” He turned to the driver. “Keep going.”

The bus pulled away from the hotel and headed south.