One year ago today: June 26, 2016, not in 1984.
Five years ago today: June 26, 2012, 66 billion tags . . .
Nine years ago today: June 26, 2008, Lady Pudding-Tat.
Random years ago today: the end times, 1981, yes, 1981.
The City of Miami got me again. The place always has to do something to remind you that the ignorant are solidly in the majority. I hope the metrorail an hour and a half in advance of a 35 minute ride, to allow for problems. Miami cannot run a train right, never could, never will. So that’s plenty of lead time for most anything. So how can Miami still screw you around when you leave that much time for their lazy-ass way of running things. Well, I’ll tell you, so pay attention as I’m assigning blame here.
The first metro train arrives, but is it orange or green? I hopped on, since it’s a fifty-fifty chance (great going there, Miami) and tried to listen to the overhead. Ha, you think Miami is going to let you do that? First, the overhead is muffled so bad that you can’t make out what language they’re talking, plus all the announcements are at the stations. That’s where the ethnics like to socialize at top volume as they enter the car. “Lee-Roy, my man, s’up mofo?”
Next, I guessed wrong. Don’t bother asking directions, nobody knows. They speak only enough English to get a Florida High School Diploma and a driver’s license. “Does this train go to Tri-Rail?” “D’jes.” “Does this train go to the moon?” “D’jes.” “Are you people total azzclowns?” “D’jes.” (Never underestimate how ignorant these people can be, I also asked in Spanish. “Eso es la linea naranga o la linea verte?” “D’jes”. Remember what I told you in 1982—Latinos will lie to you before they will admit they don’t know something.)
Fort Solent.
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Well, that still left me over a one hour buffer. Or did it? The train pulls into the airport, and then sits there for forty minutes. By now I’m looking at my watch every five minutes. Finally, we shunt back to the transfer point. This time I exit, and walk to the actual north-bound rails, and catch that car. Now 29 minutes lead time left. The train pulls ahead to Allapatta station and unexplainably stops for 17 minutes. Then it pulls ahead to the Tri Rail and I can see the Amtrak just pulling in. Whew, I’ve made it. Or have I?
I enter an empty lobby, the porter says the Amtrak left 3 minutes ago. That is probably the first time an Amtrak has left on time in five years. So, I hiked back to the Tr-Rail, rode back to Snapper Creek, and bought a ton of food. We baked a chicken and I curled up on the spare sofa, my designated spot, and slept thru until 7:00 AM next morning. This picture is Snapper Creek, or what is left of it once Florida straightened all the waterways into unnatural canal-like routes.
To those sharp ones who noticed it, yes, the metro system calls the next stop past the transfer point by the same name: "Hialeah Station". So you get two Hialeah stations depending on which map you are reading. I have no doubt that this is intentional to fool and upset the tourists who want the Amtrak Hialeah Station to accidentally wind up one station past where they need to be. This, folks, is why Miami can’t have nice things.
“If thinking hurts, you’re doing it wrong.”
~ Me. I said that.
I’m out of cheerleader t-shirts. What? That’s right, I usually have ten or so cheerleader shirts around and I’m out. This is going to be a test of your character, not mine. How and why am I in possession of so many t-shirts that normally cheerleaders would wear? I know, let’s make this multiple choice. Which of the following explanations best fits your mindset, you MUST choose A) or B).
A) The t-shirts are snatched off clotheslines in midnight raids. I keep them as sick trophies and wear them under my day wear as a secret and perverted sex thrill. One day I’ll get caught but that just adds to the excitement.
B) Walmart sells them in bulk in the arts & crafts section for $2.97 each, as opposed to $9.97 in the clothing section. They are intended to have logos printed, but I buy them in bulk as work shirts since the cheerleader XL fits me.
Okay, which is it? This will determine if you are educated or should be sold for parts. Here is a photo of Miami brains being manufactured. The process has been contracted out since midnight April 20, 1980. The brains are produced in two vats per lunar cycle, depending on local stockpiles of insect feces. The city council of Salinas, CA, gets first pick.
Seriously, if you run short of shirts, just liberate one from JZ's walk-in closet. He's the baby of the family and has more than he could ever wear. Hint, take a blue one. He doesn't wear blue shirts, so it will not be missed. For those of you who passed the above quiz, not only does the XL size fit me, so does the XXL. This pauses me to wonder what an XXL cheerleader would look like. I've seen GLEE but I still can't see an XXL type at the top of a human pyramid. Or a social pyramid. What? Third choice on the brains? That batch is recombined with English DNA to remove all traces of the respect gene and shipped by railcar to the RCMP training facility near Regina, Saskatchewan.
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