Charlie Tomato Ruins My Plans with his Selfishness

As I'm sure you might have guessed by the end of my last post, ole Quint fell off the wagon again. Actually, it would be more accurate to say that I tripped while trying to get on and fell flat on me pretty face. However, while it's common knowledge that my relationship with sobriety has always been doomed to result in those dreaded irreconcilable differences, I never expected to give in so quickly. Ah well, it was the thought that counts, as I always say.

I never ended up going back out to sea with ole Charlie Tomato after all. Turns out that little "something" he had to take care of involved the brutal murder of his wife, the torching of his pool house, and then engaging the local law enforcement in a nine hour standoff before he ran outside of his 3 story mansion stark naked with a pistol blazing in each hand, forcing the police to fill him with enough lead to feed Ethiopia for a year. Apparently the Ethiopians will eat just about anything you give them, so why not lead?

For the past month I've been wandering about the Key West area in a daze, ultimately coming to grips with the reality of my present situation and the fact that I've become a hobo. Rather...the fact that I've been a hobo for the past several years. It's quite disconcerting when I take the time to breathe it all in. Ole Quint McGuinley...most probably the greatest sea captain there ever was...resorted to a mere mortal on land...and a poor one at that!

Then again, I've never had trouble finding sustenance or shelter. I've not been hard-pressed while nourishing my promiscuity with the female species either. I will admit that some of the women I've bedded these past few years could easily be remnants of the Mesazoic era, but they've allowed me to get the job done and that's what matters, right gentlemen? Yaargh...that's right!

It's Labor Day weekend. Lots of barbecues to crash and liqour to drink! I think I'll gradually make my way back up north along the eastern coast in hopes that I might find passage on a cruise ship. Argh wouldn't that be the life? Rich debutantes flaunting their arm candy wives as their children run wild on deck, drunk with glee (or liquor that ole uncle Quint would undoubtedly serve them illegally!).

But as with everything in my life, I shall walk the unfolding red carpet that is my future with easy steps and nary a care in the world. Who has time for worry when Jack Daniels is your friend?