Saturday, September 13, 2008

Promise ring.

I was at Pat's BBQ today, enjoying their popular Friday special of burnt ends and rib tips, when Hoss made me promise a couple of things. And, because I was drunk on the fumes of smoked meat, I was sorta powerless.

One was that WHEN I move to Panama to begin my new life as a highly successful novelist, that I never cut my beard off. Can't even use a razor. That I put Sam Beam and the two front men of ZZ Top behind me and just keep on growing. Why? Because every foreign country needs a questionable American with a crazy beard. I don't mind accepting that responsibility as my own. Not in the least, really.

Two? I'm to hire some Panamanian maid while I'm there to, well, look after my place, lest it look, say, as bad as my place does now. More importantly, though, was that she teach me Spanish for months on end, mixing verb usage and Spanish slang in with her bed making and floor mopping. Once I get good and learn-ed, we're to fall in love and maybe even move away from the Tropics, but not for long. Sort reminds me of Bottle Rocket a bit, no?

I'm a little eager to fulfill my promises but, for now, I think I'll just stick to the beard growing. Baby steps.

3 comments:

frog said...

sleeeeeep............ haha. I'm not one to talk though. I've got a 4:30 thing going on lately.

Dainon. said...

Sleep is for the weak.

ram said...

just remember that pick up line for the ages...

"You have great posture, ya know?"

G'luck Anthony