Charley & Frances & America's Wang
Charley & Frances & America’s Wang - September 7, 2004
By: Enrico Giamondi
WINTER PARK, FL
Given the latest round of natural disasters to hit America's Wang (See Homer Simpson, Kill The Alligator & Run, Simpsons Episode 245, April 30, 2000), I thought that this might be a good opportunity to let those of you who were wondering know that I was still alive…and let those of you who hadn't really wondered know that even a pair of hurricanes can't kill me.
That being said, a true ass-kicking has been administered to your humble narrator.
Charley, the little bastard, ripped through Florida, tossing mobile homes aside as, well, as they ought to be. Mullet-laden victims screamed for help through their four brown teeth. A guy stepped outside of his house to smoke a cigarette, and a tree fell on him and killed him. See, told you those things would kill you. A few hours later, Charley the egalitarian came sweeping in to Orlando's poshest zip code and kicked the living bejesus out of Winter Park. In the process, he threw a 150 year old oak tree at my house, tearing off a portion of the roof and knocking out power for 8 days.
8 days.
8 days in the sweltering August heat without air conditioning (or water, batteries, etc.)
See, I am ever the optimist, never the planner, and cynical as all hell…so when the news reports started forecasting the swath of destruction that Charley was predicted to wreak, what did I do? I told everyone who would listen that the Newscasters were just whooping this shit up for higher ratings, that nothing would happen, and anyone who joined in on the mad-rush at the grocery stores for water and batteries was a sucker.
Oops. Lets file THAT prediction along with my 1994 prediction that the internet would go the way of the CB Radio within 3 years, and that buying stock in Microsoft was stupid, but buying Imaging Diagnostic Systems stock at $8 per share was a great idea because they were developing a new breast scanning machine. Tits…they wreck your judgment every time.
So, with no supplies except a durian in my powerless refrigerator, I struggled on. You don't ever want to smell rotten durian and a house full of unwashed clothes, and rain soaked carpet. We couldn't drink our tap water, and the gas stations all ran out of gasoline – which I discovered as I drove around for hours looking for a tankful. I started to think things might go a bit "Road Warrior," but I made the best of it and pushed my car to my office and it sat there for 5 days.
For those 5 days, I rode my bicycle to work and at the end of each day, loaded up my back pack with bottles of water from the water cooler. What a pain in the ass – I felt like some frigging shepherd from Kenya riding my bike 9 miles to get drinking water. Oh, except that I couldn't sleep because my neighbors had all bought generators and it sounded like I was trying to sleep in the middle of a motocross track.
The power-outage caused by Charley did provide me with the candlelit surroundings leading to the "hurricane score." Yes, Charley was a rat-fucker, but he actually pulled through as a wingman.
Let's face it, had I invited a girl into my house with the lights all out and just a single candle lit under any other circumstances, I probably would have been in the position of being seen as the pig that I am often slanderously accused of being. The natural disaster provided the perfect cover – and hid the filth that surrounded the couch too. So…blackouts are helpful when an air raid is happening, and when you are trying to make your move in a crumbled shell of a house.
Did I mention the vermin invasion? Every nasty shitty creature that evolution pissed on swam to the surface of the mud surrounding my house, and seeking high ground, or just seeking to piss me off, decided to couch surf at my wrecked house. One night I walked in, shined my flashlight, and it looked like something out of an Indiana Jones movie.
The daily rains the week after Charley saturated the inside of my roof, so the house began to leak and smell like a nasty stinky carrion-filled cave. A nasty stinky carrion-filled cave full of vermin, and of course, my incessantly bitching companion, Vinny the Cat. Fortunately, I was in the process of buying a new house, so my nightmare looked like it was over as the contract was signed, the financing approved, my boss brought me 5 gallons of gasoline, and the power came on. Sigh of relief…
Oh, it couldn't be that fucking simple though….
The day before I was supposed to close on my new home, Charley's bitchy fat girlfriend (Frances) came to town. My lender would not close on my house pending the hurricane - which is to be expected.
Accordingly, I rode out Frances in my Charley-damaged house. Frances filled the holes that Charley made with a billion gallons of water, which completely collapsed the roof in one room. My bedroom suffered a nasty crack and subsequent massive water penetration (heh heh, I said "penetration.") I thought that it could not get any worse until I saw a segment of my roof - tethered to my house by only a power line that ran through the eaves - flying like a kite and bashing into the house all night long. I have had no power for four days.
To add some additional comedy - I went to stay at this girl's place in Jacksonville last night. Upon arrival, I parked my car, and then had to wade through (no kidding) three feet of water to get to her apartment building. For this place look any more like the third world, there would have to be water buffalo walking through the streets, amputee beggars dragging themselves across the sidewalks, toilets that are just holes in the ground, and everyone wiping their ass with their hands. Fortunately, it hasn't come to that yet.
Upon entering her apartment, I sat on the couch, turned on the TV and the emergency broadcast system took over the airwaves to broadcast a tornado warning. What the fuck.
Tornadoes, Floods, Hurricanes?
This certainly would have been a lot more fun if I wasn't an atheist.
Maybe the loch ness motherfucking monster can come out of the sewer and eat my balls to complete the trading card set of ass-chapping Nostradamus-predicted chaos that has become Enrico's World.
At this point, aside from the tourette's syndrome I have come down with, I am suffering no ill effects. I feel entitled to scream "FUCK" any goddamn time I feel like it. And, yes, I did nearly engage in an act of brutal violence in a gasoline line, but generally I have refrained from adding to the victims of these bastard hurricanes. I have not slept properly for three weeks, and I am VERY pissy. This must be what a man-period feels like.
Is it over now? Oh FUCK NO! How the FUCK could it be over. Because HERE FUCKING COMES MOTHERFUCKING IVAN!!!!!!!
Ok, the last predicted track of Ivan shows it smacking Jamaica, Cuba, maybe Naples, and the Mississippi-Alabama coastline. If I ever gave no shit at all about Mississippi and Alabama, if I ever hated those places before, you can't imagine how much I am wishing Ivan upon them now.
If Ivan continues on its present course, we should avoid any negative consequences of that storm, but it could come at us. As long as the insurance company agrees that Ivan is not a threat, I should be able to close on my house this week, move out of the squalid yurt that I currently live in, and get back to my life. Of course, if there is a delay, FEMA has built a trailer park where disaster victims can live for free. I dunno…it would really add to the fucked up comedy of the situation if I lived in a trailer park for a little while.
So…the housewarming party is at some point over the next two weeks. Well, provided we don't have a hail of unleavened bread, or some other bible-inspired destruction.
-E.G.
By: Enrico Giamondi
WINTER PARK, FL
Given the latest round of natural disasters to hit America's Wang (See Homer Simpson, Kill The Alligator & Run, Simpsons Episode 245, April 30, 2000), I thought that this might be a good opportunity to let those of you who were wondering know that I was still alive…and let those of you who hadn't really wondered know that even a pair of hurricanes can't kill me.
That being said, a true ass-kicking has been administered to your humble narrator.
Charley, the little bastard, ripped through Florida, tossing mobile homes aside as, well, as they ought to be. Mullet-laden victims screamed for help through their four brown teeth. A guy stepped outside of his house to smoke a cigarette, and a tree fell on him and killed him. See, told you those things would kill you. A few hours later, Charley the egalitarian came sweeping in to Orlando's poshest zip code and kicked the living bejesus out of Winter Park. In the process, he threw a 150 year old oak tree at my house, tearing off a portion of the roof and knocking out power for 8 days.
8 days.
8 days in the sweltering August heat without air conditioning (or water, batteries, etc.)
See, I am ever the optimist, never the planner, and cynical as all hell…so when the news reports started forecasting the swath of destruction that Charley was predicted to wreak, what did I do? I told everyone who would listen that the Newscasters were just whooping this shit up for higher ratings, that nothing would happen, and anyone who joined in on the mad-rush at the grocery stores for water and batteries was a sucker.
Oops. Lets file THAT prediction along with my 1994 prediction that the internet would go the way of the CB Radio within 3 years, and that buying stock in Microsoft was stupid, but buying Imaging Diagnostic Systems stock at $8 per share was a great idea because they were developing a new breast scanning machine. Tits…they wreck your judgment every time.
So, with no supplies except a durian in my powerless refrigerator, I struggled on. You don't ever want to smell rotten durian and a house full of unwashed clothes, and rain soaked carpet. We couldn't drink our tap water, and the gas stations all ran out of gasoline – which I discovered as I drove around for hours looking for a tankful. I started to think things might go a bit "Road Warrior," but I made the best of it and pushed my car to my office and it sat there for 5 days.
For those 5 days, I rode my bicycle to work and at the end of each day, loaded up my back pack with bottles of water from the water cooler. What a pain in the ass – I felt like some frigging shepherd from Kenya riding my bike 9 miles to get drinking water. Oh, except that I couldn't sleep because my neighbors had all bought generators and it sounded like I was trying to sleep in the middle of a motocross track.
The power-outage caused by Charley did provide me with the candlelit surroundings leading to the "hurricane score." Yes, Charley was a rat-fucker, but he actually pulled through as a wingman.
Let's face it, had I invited a girl into my house with the lights all out and just a single candle lit under any other circumstances, I probably would have been in the position of being seen as the pig that I am often slanderously accused of being. The natural disaster provided the perfect cover – and hid the filth that surrounded the couch too. So…blackouts are helpful when an air raid is happening, and when you are trying to make your move in a crumbled shell of a house.
Did I mention the vermin invasion? Every nasty shitty creature that evolution pissed on swam to the surface of the mud surrounding my house, and seeking high ground, or just seeking to piss me off, decided to couch surf at my wrecked house. One night I walked in, shined my flashlight, and it looked like something out of an Indiana Jones movie.
The daily rains the week after Charley saturated the inside of my roof, so the house began to leak and smell like a nasty stinky carrion-filled cave. A nasty stinky carrion-filled cave full of vermin, and of course, my incessantly bitching companion, Vinny the Cat. Fortunately, I was in the process of buying a new house, so my nightmare looked like it was over as the contract was signed, the financing approved, my boss brought me 5 gallons of gasoline, and the power came on. Sigh of relief…
Oh, it couldn't be that fucking simple though….
The day before I was supposed to close on my new home, Charley's bitchy fat girlfriend (Frances) came to town. My lender would not close on my house pending the hurricane - which is to be expected.
Accordingly, I rode out Frances in my Charley-damaged house. Frances filled the holes that Charley made with a billion gallons of water, which completely collapsed the roof in one room. My bedroom suffered a nasty crack and subsequent massive water penetration (heh heh, I said "penetration.") I thought that it could not get any worse until I saw a segment of my roof - tethered to my house by only a power line that ran through the eaves - flying like a kite and bashing into the house all night long. I have had no power for four days.
To add some additional comedy - I went to stay at this girl's place in Jacksonville last night. Upon arrival, I parked my car, and then had to wade through (no kidding) three feet of water to get to her apartment building. For this place look any more like the third world, there would have to be water buffalo walking through the streets, amputee beggars dragging themselves across the sidewalks, toilets that are just holes in the ground, and everyone wiping their ass with their hands. Fortunately, it hasn't come to that yet.
Upon entering her apartment, I sat on the couch, turned on the TV and the emergency broadcast system took over the airwaves to broadcast a tornado warning. What the fuck.
Tornadoes, Floods, Hurricanes?
This certainly would have been a lot more fun if I wasn't an atheist.
Maybe the loch ness motherfucking monster can come out of the sewer and eat my balls to complete the trading card set of ass-chapping Nostradamus-predicted chaos that has become Enrico's World.
At this point, aside from the tourette's syndrome I have come down with, I am suffering no ill effects. I feel entitled to scream "FUCK" any goddamn time I feel like it. And, yes, I did nearly engage in an act of brutal violence in a gasoline line, but generally I have refrained from adding to the victims of these bastard hurricanes. I have not slept properly for three weeks, and I am VERY pissy. This must be what a man-period feels like.
Is it over now? Oh FUCK NO! How the FUCK could it be over. Because HERE FUCKING COMES MOTHERFUCKING IVAN!!!!!!!
Ok, the last predicted track of Ivan shows it smacking Jamaica, Cuba, maybe Naples, and the Mississippi-Alabama coastline. If I ever gave no shit at all about Mississippi and Alabama, if I ever hated those places before, you can't imagine how much I am wishing Ivan upon them now.
If Ivan continues on its present course, we should avoid any negative consequences of that storm, but it could come at us. As long as the insurance company agrees that Ivan is not a threat, I should be able to close on my house this week, move out of the squalid yurt that I currently live in, and get back to my life. Of course, if there is a delay, FEMA has built a trailer park where disaster victims can live for free. I dunno…it would really add to the fucked up comedy of the situation if I lived in a trailer park for a little while.
So…the housewarming party is at some point over the next two weeks. Well, provided we don't have a hail of unleavened bread, or some other bible-inspired destruction.
-E.G.
posted by Enrico Giamondi at 1:25 PM
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