Let It Grow Organic Gardens

And I resumed the struggle. -Vladimir

Saturday, May 14, 2005

Come One, Come All!

O’er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our empire, and behold our home.
The Corsair
Lord Byron

The cannons ceased. The ships had fired broadside. The pirates readied to board. Errol Flynn said it all: It’s cutlasses now, men!
Tailgate customers are in for a few surprises. I’m turning my stand into an undersea theme park. Coral reefs, sharks, Ester Williams, everything.
You’ll enter through Anemone Land, where fluffy little aqautic creatures will perform pas de deux around your ankles and welcome you to the oceanic delights to come. Oversized sea-dwelling hosts, like Toothy, the lovable killer whale, and Huggy, the wacky octopus, will pose for pictures with your kids and then lead you aboard the Titanic. You’ll go below deck and watch lovable Oompa-Loompas carve up the fatal iceberg and deposit the shavings in a series of coolers, all full to the brim with fresh seafood. Crabby (that’s me), a foul-mooded crustacean, will take your order, ably assisted by Lobby, a true Newport lobster who always seems to have his nose in the air!
But the fun has only just begun. Topless Tahitians will pack your order with a smile, singing melodic South Sea ballads of endless sandy beaches and eternal sunsets. Blackbeard himself will relieve you of your doubloons and cast you adrift in a lifeboat. You’ll float with the currents, standing on the poop deck with a little plastic bag of fresh flounder. You’ll follow the route of Ulysses himself, tied to the mast as advertisements for frozen fish sticks are channeled into your cranium. From there you transfer onto your choice of the Nina, Pinta, or Santa Maria where you will enjoy weeks of Puritan proselytizing as you drift through the Doldrums.
Okay, maybe my history is a bit confused, but for ten extra tickets you get to introduce smallpox to the Indian village of your choice.
You’ll wash up on an uncharted desert isle and enter into comic situations with the millionaire and his wife, only to be rescued and transported to Pearl Harbor. From there, you’ve only one way out. You’ve got to cross the River Styx. Like Errol said: It’s cutlasses now, men.


  • At May 16, 2005 7:14 PM, Blogger spiral said…

    May I enlist as an actress? Other than being a Topless Tahitian or a smallpox-infected Indian, I'm up for just about any role. . .

  • At May 16, 2005 9:00 PM, Blogger Frank said…

    How'd you like to star in the Amelia Earhart rescue scene?


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