RUGator

Whenever I see this figure attached to anything, I think, “but it’s the .1 that concerns me.”

I got fired today. Was sort of cool.

Awaiting my loop today, Mr. Trump rode by. It IS his course, you know.

So I “pointed” to him. His response?

You got it.

I got “fired” as he pointed right back at me.

I loved it.

I loved it because he always makes time to give the caddies a friendly greeting. And to give us some good-natured teasing too.

Can’t make it up.

Dee-jaying a college fraternity party one night, I asked a surfer dude friend what song by the Rolling Stones he wanted to hear.

“Schtones r Schtones,” he replied. “Play anything. Just crank it up!”

Here’s my favorite:

“Brown Sugar,” by The Rolling Stones

Here’s a fun one from an underrated band:

“Goodbye to You,” by Scandal

Listening to this reminds me of why he was the King. Very few could bust it out like M.J.

“Can You Feel It,” by The Jacksons

Can’t be played loud enough.

“Cars,” by Gary Numan

Just finished reading a biography of Walt Disney called, “Walt Disney, An American Original” by Bob Thomas.

Highly recommended.

Here’s one terrific excerpt (I’m paraphrasing):

Walt Disney was afraid he would die before he was “finished.” A fortune teller once told him he’d die at a young age. Upon making it past the time which he considered an “early death,” he told his long-time secretary (and trusted confidant, Hazel), “I’d hate to die and look down and see this studio in disarray.”

To which she replied, “How do you know you won’t be using a periscope?”

“Smart ass,” said Walt in return.

The audio isn’t great, but the dancing is ridiculous:

Sitting here thinking about some of the nutty things I’ve done over the years in the name of God, country, and Gator football.

Things that all die-hards can probably relate to. Here’s one:

“Came to” in a stranger’s car on an interstate highway traveling AWAY from Auburn, Alabama after Florida had lost to the Tigers/Plainsmen/War Eagle people sometime earlier in the day. Apparently I had spent a bit too much time with my friend, James Beam during the game (nothing like the orange and blue pom-poms waving in tandem in and around Jordan-Hare while your head spins). So, I asked my “escort” to let me out and I began to walk back “towards” campus (like I knew where I was headed!), dressed only in cut-off orange sweats (no shirt) and a plastic orange gator head. No money, pre-cell phone, and no identification.

The sun is setting on the plains of eastern Alabama and I’m on some back country road when I happen upon “The Peanut Butter Disco Club,” a run-down shack-like edifice with old school R&B blasting through the air. Walking in, I’m the only white guy forever. Of course, I ask to use the phone (ala Otis Day and the Nights from Animal House). The whole place stops, I mean, dead stops, and everyone looks at me like I just stole something. “No” is the polite yet very firm response. I scurry back out to the road and begin to cry, literally. No cars in sight, no sounds in sight.

Finally, a car approaches, a station wagon (remember those?) I stand in the middle of the road waving this “mo fo” of a plastic gator head (good move in Auburn territory) back in forth through the air. The theme song from Deliverance kicks in as the car stops. A kindly man and his family pick me up and drive me back to the Auburn campus where my fraternity brothers await with the police whom they had called, having just recently filed a missing person’s report on my behalf.

No problem.

The party hadn’t even started yet.