I’ve decided that it’s about time that I foul Elisson’s nest again. I figure this is the last time I’ll be getting the keys to the joint.

I wonder if you were to ask one hundred randomly selected Americans under 30 years old what event of historic significance took place on June 6, 1944 how many would answer correctly. I’d bet that fewer than 25 would know the answer, which would be very sad.

Rather than being disappointed by the answers, maybe it’s better just not to ask.

During our vacation, we went here one morning in an effort to escape the swarms of farookin’ Love Bugs, which seemed to have a particular fondness for the place where we were staying.

As we drove into the State Park, the Ranger handed us a brochure, which said something like, “Do not feed the animals in the park, including the alligators.”

Jimbo: “SAY WHAT?? Alli-farookin’gators? Turn this goddamned car around!”

The Usual Suspects took great delight at my shitting in my pants simply as a result of reading the brochure. On we went.

As we checked out the various roads in the park, I wondered where alligators might lurk. It took about three minutes to find these Evergladely like stream things with dense growth right up to the water’s edge on both sides. “Alligator City,” without a doubt.

One such road led directly to a bank of one of the Evergladey stream things on which were canoes and kayaks that one could rent. At the place where the water meets the ground was a sign that said, “No Swimming. Alligators present.”

No Swimming? NO SHIT!

To me, “swimming” includes what one’s sorry ass has to do once a canoe or a kayak capsizes in that stinking Evergladey water. I’ve never been in a kayak, but I have been in canoes, and those suckers flip over if you sneeze wrong.

I want to know who are the nimrods who would rent (i.e. PAY to use) a canoe or a kayak and shove off from the place where you have been clearly warned that “swimming” might turn you into alligator lunch?

Crazy bastards!

Tomorrow is New Jersey’s Primary for state and local elections. Here’s the story in my district.

On the Democrat side, all the candidates (all of whom are incumbents) are running unopposed.

On the Republican side, no petitions were filed for several offices, meaning the Democrats will run unopposed for those offices in November. For those few offices for which a Republican desires to run in November, there is just that – one Republican.

Hell, in my district, it’s hard enough to find one Republican, let alone two, who are willing to go through the motions of running for office, only to be slaughtered in November by the Democrat Sheeple vote.

That all adds up to this primary being a waste of time and a huge waste of all that paper that was used to print out thousands of bilingual sample ballots.

It’s all quite depressing.

Due to a set of circumstances that would not interest the masses, it seems that Ken (my friend and bodyguard) and I will have to handle the Sunday Services pool bobbing and beer drinking at his house by ourselves today. The beer is ice cold, and the pool is crystal clear and comfortably heated. I’ll be bringing hot dogs made by the local German butcher.

Tough duty, but someone’s gotta do it.

Before leaving for vacation, Blogger Extraordinaire Elisson graced me with a set of keys to his place to shit up his site guest post while he is away lounging on some beach with his most charming spouse. I was honored to be gifted with a set of keys from a guy who is an extremely talented writer and who has an inexhaustible supply of creativity.

I was doubly honored when I saw the other bloggers Elisson entrusted his place to. I am in the company of Velociman, Treppenwitz, our favorite Straight White Guy, and Erica, the Smartass Brooklyn Jooette, who has a demonstrated stellar track record for really shitting up people’s blogs while they’re away guest posting.. Pretty heavy-duty group there.

I’ve already tossed a turd into the Blog d’Elisson, and I hope to leave a few more droppings over there during the week. So, if I don’t appear here, you may well find my silly musings over there.

Speaking of Elisson, did I mention that he is a wonderfully talented and creative writer? I believe I did. But, I did not mention that he has managed to do what many bloggers only dream of doing. He has gotten a book published. No kidding. It’s a real, honest-to-goodness book. As the title states, it is a collection of 100 of Elisson’s amazing 100-word stories. You can order your copy at Amazon.com, which is seriously cool. So, go buy one already!

Some people seek undersea treasures, while others take joy in spending their lives digging for a rare archaeological artifact. The more adventuresome travel the globe looking for the perfect wave. Not my cup of tea, that. For me, one of the finer moments in life comes with discovering yet another excellent alcoholic beverage.

Of course, I have no shot at appearing in National Geographic Magazine, but I’d sooner sample booze than drown in a sunken ship, revel in finding some caveman caca, or getting the shit knocked out of me by the Bonsai Pipeline.

My most recent find is Finlandia Mango Infused Vodka.

It boasts the perfect mix of vodka and tropical fruit, which is to say it’s a bit more vodka than fruit. I’ve always been a fan of Finlandia vodka, which is made from glacial spring water, so when I saw the Mango Infusion variety, it was a Must Buy.

It is easy to imagine a few creative cocktails that could be made with the stuff, and it is easy to find actual recipes for the limp-wristed drinker. I prefer it straight, directly from the freezer, or directly from the freezer poured over ice (one always uses clear ice).

If you’re in the market for a most pleasant summer booze treat, I recommend it highly. But, a word of caution. Don’t be lulled into the “Oooh, this is delicious” trap, because the mango is infused into 80 proof Whoopass.

Thank me, very much.

Life 101 has been merciless since my return from the weeklong drinkfest spiritual retreat with the Usuals in Florida. Still, I figure that, lest this place die on the vine, I should take a few moments to share some very important observations about the Alligator Sunshine State and my time there this year with the Usuals and the Regulars from Non-Jersey places such as Fort Wayne, Indiana, Shelbyville, Illinois, Longview, Washington, Kansas City, Missouri, Ashtabula, Ohio and Chattanooga, Tennessee.

Of course, there was the ever-present Angst over the possibility of confronting one of those man-eating, woman-eating, pet-eating, semi-underwater prowling, bacteria-ridden, loathsome creatures commonly referred to as alligators. Spending just about all our time poolside drinking like sailors on liberty discussing trends in modern literature does wonders to take one’s mind off alligators, but who knew that there would be a species of wildlife that could invade the sanctity of “poolside” quaffing inner reflection – and invade it in spades.

You might ask, what species, other than the prehistoric, people-eating variety, could disrupt the Usuals’ vodka swilling moments of serious introspection? Would such animals be larger and more ferocious than an alligator, a lizard, or a monster snake?

No!

Would they be heavily dentitioned, rabies infected mammals?

No!

Would they be avian beasts that swooped down upon us, much as they did Tippi Hedren in the famous movie by Alfred Hitchcock?

No!

”Yo, so Jimbo, what could possibly interfere with the Usual Suspects’ long tradition of pool-sitting, pool bobbing and shit shooting?”

Farookin’ LOVE BUGS, that’s what!

I know that those of you who live in Florida (particularly on the Gulf Coast) know about these hateful, six-legged shits, but for youse guys who don’t know what they look like, take a gander here. You can also see a close up shot here.

Notice how the two insectoturds are conjoined at what for us civilized folks would be called “the ass”. It is the aforesaid heiney to heiney ass-f**king that gets them the name “Love Bugs.” Yes, they fly about in this kinky coital state until the female (the larger of the pair) decides she has had enough of the male (the small sorry ass who gets dragged about much like a farookin’ “Coppertone” sign behind one of those planes that flies up and down the beach at the seashore) at which time she dumps his ass so she can go lay her eggs, which will eventually result in a shitload more bugs.

There were ZILLIONS of them! No, make that GAZILLION BILLIONS of them. They blackened the exterior walls of the place, they covered the walkways, and they blackened the pool’s surface until their dead asses sank and had to be vacuumed from the bottom of the pool.

The good news for us (and for mankind in general) is that these disgusting creatures do not sting. The bad news is that nothing – abso-farookin’-lutely NOTHING keeps them away. We tried everything from citronella candles (they seemed to like the smell) to those Pic coiled insect repellent things, which I have not seen since I was a kid and which smell like what we used to call “punks”. The little bastards flew around in the smoke as if they were sniffing perfume!

Out of desperation, we even tried blasting our immediate area with deadly insect killing spray hoping to create a zone of death into which the little flying fornicating winged shits would not enter. Wrong. They flew into the kill zone and died what I can only presume to be a happy death.

Finally, after a day or so of bug battle, we realized that we had been beaten by their superior numbers and their seeming willingness to die an ecstatic death (terrorist bugs!). While this cursed infestation put a damper on some outside activities, we simply moved our binge drinking spiritual symposia to one of our screened in lanais. After a couple three chocolate vodkas, the little f**king (literally) beasts looked rather comical flitting about outside the screens.

This is the first time in seven or so years that we have had this problem at this time of the year. Some of the locals speculated that it had something to do with the dry spell that Florida has been having. I just hope we remain Love Bug free for at least another seven years.

Still, this proved that it will take more than GAZILLION BILLIONS of farookin’ bugs to keep the Usual Suspects from power drinking exchanging valuable, deep thoughts about important philosophical concepts.

Still running around here. In about sixty seconds, I have to head off to march in the Memorial Day Parade. I recall that when I began marching in the Memorial Day Parade, the crowds watching the Parade were sometimes three deep. Over the years the number has dwindled, and I fear the trend will continue. Pretty sad, that.

Please take a moment today to give a thought to the American service men and women who made the ultimate sacrifice for our freedom.

Later.

UPDATE: As I had expected, the parade route was again sparsely populated, although there were considerably more spectators that lined the curbs of the two blocks that comprise the actual center of town. Still, the crowds were nothing compared to what they used to be.

The good news is that those who did turn out for the parade were wonderful. As we marched down the street (I was a rifle toter in the color guard), the onlookers applauded for each of the Veterans Organizations, and over and over again, we heard “Thank you!” coming from the spectators. It was quite moving, to say the least.

The clincher came after the parade at the town’s Memorial Park, where the post-parade ceremonies are held. The ceremonies include five members of our Post providing a rifle salute (three volleys) before “Taps” is played and the flag is raised from its half-staff position.

As the five of us were were standing around with our rifles waiting for the ceremonies to begin, a man who appeared to be in his late twenties came up to each of us, shook our hands and said “Thank you.” With him were his two young sons in Cub Scout uniforms. He said to the boys, “Shake these men’s hands and tell them thank you,” which they did.

At that moment, I can tell you there were five lumps in five grown men’s throats.

It was a good day, after all.

Yep. Still playing Catch Up, so no time to blog. I have to go to the Post to see what last minute stuff has to be done for Memorial Day. Busy time.

Maybe later.