The King is Dead...Long Live the King!

We will be experiencing a brief media outage. Please bring your seats and tray tables to the full upright and locked position. Make yourself comfortable while we try out our new digs......

KOTWF

I drank what?!?

Had a little too much to drink last night at the Vetinari Victory Celebration. Woke up this morning with the worst hangover of my life.....

Vetinari For Mayor

Matthew Baldwin of Defective Yeti had a brilliant idea a few years ago, when the neighbor kid started putting out political signs to elect Harry Potter. He joined the fun.

Now he is hosting a little contest over at The Morning News in which he invites you to do the same. Read Enyclopedia Brown for District Attorney.

These are my contributions.

N'Awlins Roundup!

A friend of mine is heading to New Orleans next month for her anniversary. Being as I've spent quite a few barely remembered hours in the city, she asked for my advice on things to check out while there, specifically, where to go for her Anniversary Dinner.

After some consideration, I decided to post what I sent her here as well, in the hopes that maybe a few people might take my advice and head south for a weekend or two. N'Awlins can use the support.

For your anniversary dinner, I would recommend:

The New Orleans Grill at Windsor Court. They have a "Chef's Tasting Menu" that is 5 or 6 small courses in which the waiters give you a description of each thing as it is brought out. It's between $100 and $150 per person.

If you want the wine pairings (5 3/4 glasses of wine selected by a Sommelier to pair perfectly with each course) it is an additional $75 each. It is one of the best restaurants in the city, but, it is in the Business District, not the Quarter. However, you CANNOT go wrong.

Some other suggestions if you want a different atmosphere, or just don't want a $400 dinner tab (can't blame you):

Galatoires: This is right on Bourbon, serves a damn fine meal, and is also a New Orleans institution. A few years ago, when they fired a waiter who had been on the staff for about 15
years (for sexual harassment) it made the front page of the Times-Picayune.

Arnaud's: Another great restaurant, right in the heart of the Quarter. There are various dining
options. You can eat either in the main dining room, or in the jazz lounge, or in the oyster bar. One word of advice; even if you don't eat there for dinner, at least go there for a drink and get an order of their Souffle Potatos. They are FUCKIN' AWESOME!

Antoine's: Another New Orleans classic. Nothing particular to suggest. Just get one of
everything.

Muriel's: This place is great. It's located on the corner of Jackson Square (you'll find it) which is on the edge of the Quarter close to the river. Even if you don't eat dinner here, go in, get a cocktail, and check out the Séance Room. Rumor has it that the former owner committed suicide in that room, and so they've decorated it in a combination of King Tut, Barry White, Marie LeVeaux, and "Queer Eye." Make sure you notice the "ghost's table" on the way up the stairs. That's where they set a place for all the ghosts to eat. Speaking of ghosts, Muriel's is listed as one of the most haunted buildings (I think THE most haunted restaurant) in the USA.

Pascal's Manale: Definitely not a "formal" place, so you may not want to go there for your anniversary. HOWEVER if you do go, you are not allowed to order anything but the barbecued shrimp for your meal. Trust me on this one. This place is not in the quarter, but it is a world famous New Orleans eatery. Lot's of celebs go there when in town. Do yourself a favor and get a dozen oysters at the oyster bar. The shucker will talk and talk and talk about the history of the place, people he's seen in there, and just about anything else you want.

The rest of my suggestions are not very anniversary dinner-y, but some places you should definitely check out:

The Praline Connection: Go to the location on Frenchman Street. Go for a snack/lunch. Order the Soft-Shelled Crawfish appetizer. This is the only place in the world I have seen such a thing.

The Red Fish Grill: This place is on Bourbon, on the edge of the Quarter. Go in for lunch/snack. Order the BBQ Oysters. TRUST ME ON THIS ONE YOU MUST GET THESE!

Drago's Restaurant: This place is in Metairie (between Downtown NOLA and the Airport). They are world famous for their Charbroiled oysters. They grill the fuckers on the half shell.

Hurwitz Mintz: This is a 4 story furniture store that offers everything you could ever want and can't afford. Red and I spend at least an hour in this place every time we go to NOLA. It's right in the quarter, and is a great break from eating and drinking, which you will do ALOT of. They have two stores there, about a block apart, one with more classic, antiquey furniture, and one with modern stuff. I prefer the classic styles, but both stores are worth checking out. While there, visit our dining table for us. It's this one: http://www.apter-fredericks.com/memorable-pieces/372.htm.

The Whisnant Gallery: This is across the street from one of the Hurwitz Mintzes. It is a neat antique store with all kinds of wild shit like a table that is upholstered with zebra skin. Worth a gander.

Pat O'Brien's: This is a VERY touristy spot, but you must go at least once. I recommend twice, to see a different flavor each time. Go during the day and sit outside by the fountain (which burns at night) and enjoy a beverage. Come back after dark and sit in the piano bar. They have two, copper covered, dueling pianos and the place is just a rockin' good time. DO NOT ORDER MORE THAN ONE HURRICANE IT WILL KILL YOU!!!!!

The Chart Room: This is just a corner bar on the corner of Chartres (pronounced charters) and Bienville streets in the Quarter. 1 block off Bourbon, this place offers great drinks, an open front so you can watch people walk by, and does so at prices comparable to local, small town establishments. Additionally, it is 1/2 block from your hotel (the St. Louis), so it is a perfect place for one of you to go get a drink and wait for the other one. Also 1/2 block from your hotel is The Old Absinthe House. They don't serve absinthe, but they have the old marble absinthe serving paraphernalia. A neat place to stop and wait as well.

Cafe Beignet: The Royal Street location is a block from your hotel. Grab a coffee and a Beignet
for breakfast then walk the streets looking for an open bar.

If you walk out to Canal street on the edge of the quarter, you can take a streetcar (not named desire, but whatever) to the Garden District. They have self-guided walking tours that I'm sure you can find some information on somewhere. The walking tours will take you past Commander's Palace (which is apparently not re-opened yet after Katrina, but definitely worth stopping for a meal when it does re-open) as well as all those beautiful old houses. Anne Rice's house is one of the one's you'll pass, if you give a shit about that sort of thing.

Court of Two Sisters: Make a reservation in advance. Go to the Jazz Brunch Buffet. I suggest getting there about 1/2 hour before breakfast is over and lunch begins so you get the best of both worlds. Order a bottle of mimosa, which is French for "I don't want to wait until noon to get smashed" and eat everything you see. Make sure you try the Turtle soup. Warning: this is a tourist destination, but, hey, you're tourists, and it is soooo good.

Be careful! You should be pretty safe in the quarter (it is full of tourists most of the time) but the quarter borders some pretty seedy places. The worst projects in the country are just outside the quarter, next to the St. Louis #1 cemetery (where they filmed Easy Rider, by the
way).

Well, that should about do it. Enjoy your trip.

Click At Your Own Risk. NSFW.

We'll get back in to this thing with an educational post.

On my 20 minute morning commute, I listen to the The Bob and Tom Show. I find that 20 minutes is about the perfect dose, in which they are pretty funny, and don't start to grate on you. In any event, yesterday morning, they played the song "Internet Porn" by Da Vinci's Notebook. I decided to type up the lyrics and add a few hyperlinks to help you get a better idea of what these guys are talking about.

Back in the not too distant past
When I would need a quick repast
Or a temporary break from my agenda

Up to the bedroom I would head
Pull out the Playboy from 'neath the bed
And sneak a peak at all the portraits of pudenda.

My alternatives were slim
If I tried to find another source for sin
I'd have to hang out with the losers in the backroom of my local video store

But last month I finally made the call
I got a brand new cable modem installed
And it opened up the floodgates of a whole new universe of INTERNET PORN

Internet porn: Roman Orgy Scenes
Internet porn: Dominatrix Queens
Internet porn: Girl on girl on girl on girl on girl on guy on sheep

Internet porn: Gross Anatomy
Internet porn: Pam and Tommy Lee
Internet porn: When you're given so much to choose from who has time to sleep?

Honestly honey, I dunno how the link got on there!

After my girlfriend goes to sleep
And I get out of bed and down the hall I creep
So I can hunker down and wallow in depravity until 3 or 4

You'll always find me in that same tableau
Silloueted by my monitor's warm glow
And absorbing all the bounty from the cornocopia of INTERNET PORN

Internet porn: Barely legal teens
Internet porn: Naughty figurines
Internet porn: Geriatric German grandmas spanking Spanish men

Internet porn: Erotic Asian art
Internet porn: Guys with extra parts
Internet porn: I don't think I'm ever going to see the sun again!

Internet porn: Male-in-love.com
Internet porn: There's my neighbor's mom
Internet porn: Bikers wearing diapers chasing nurses dressed like smurfs

Internet porn: Massage le crevage
Internet porn: Oh le trois menage
Internet porn: Every kind of smut from every corner of the earth!

Bob and Tom followed this song up with an education in some of the more bizarre love-acts available today in the form of "Cleveland Steamer" by the Mad Armenians. Again, links have been added, but I beg you not to click.

Your girl complains about the way you love her
its just the same old mattress dance each time
nothin's ever new
wham bam and you are through
well why not try these moves I found online

Do the Cleveland steamer
or try the donkey punch
the old Egyptian tea-bag
could be the perfect lunch

she'll love a Gaylord Perry
or the old rusty trombone
and a German knuckle cake
will really make her moan

She thinks you're immature
sometimes boring
so spice things up and cruise the internet
google will retrieve
some things you wont believe
so give your girl a night she won't forget

Do the dirty Sanchez
or try the change machine
Pasadena mudslide
will really make her scream

Try a Roman helmet
or a good old mini van
or do a Pittsburgh platter
to prove that you're the man the old

Moroccan meatball
a Bulgarian gas mask
the Alabama hot pocket
best she doesn't ask

the disappearing panda
or the raspberry beret
the San Juan Capastrano
just might make her day

give her the dirty muskie
or try the snow mobile
I'm sure a Boston pancake
will really make her squeal

do the big boy combo
or the old Swiss Army Knife
and if she likes the fish hook
make this girl your wife

Cleveland steam your wife
then find a brand new wife

Your education is now nearly complete. Tomorrow, we learn about DVDA.

...And She Can Deep Throat the Bottle

This article seems like it is just ripe for jokes. But where to begin? Do I comment on the fact that I've seen her drink something out of a wine glass, but it definitely wasn't FDA approved? Do I joke about how she is saving money on raw materials because one of the ingredients is yeast? Should I suggest that a bottle of her wine and one of her videos is the perfect date? Do I mention that you don't need to buy a bottle of her wine in order to see her naked?

Or do I claim that the type of yeast she uses is Assmannshausen?

Memories of a Great Man I Never Met

27 years ago today, there was an accident. My grandfather, the man who selected and purchased the farm on which half of my family lives, the man who built the riverfront cottage from which I have so many memories, the man who founded the company that puts food on the table of my grandmother, father, stepmom, uncles, aunts, cousins, and takes care of my wife and daughter, was killed.

Two months later I was born. I’m named after him, but called by my middle name, because his death was still too fresh. I see his portrait every day in the front hall of our office, but I’ve never seen his face.

And somehow, despite never having met the man, I miss him. Here are some memories that others have shared:

1. My grandfather used to love to watch the satellites go overhead at night. Back then there weren’t too many, and he knew which ones were which. My father came home one night, and went out back where my grandfather was watching satellites drinking Echo Spring. Dad sat down, and they stared at the sky in silence.

After a while, an opossum waddled up out of the woods, sniffed at the bourbon in grandpa’s glass, then went to the big bowl of dog-food by the door and helped itself. When it had finished eating, it wandered back over the hill. Silence returned to the back porch while more satellites passed overhead. Finally, my grandfather broke the silence:

“That was the ugliest dog I’ve ever seen.”

2. Another time, my grandfather was out in Columbus, OH. As he was walking into the back door of a watering-hole, a large man on the way out jostled him hard in the shoulder. Harsh words were exchanged, and the end result was that my grandfather continued on his way into the bar, leaving the other man lying in the alley.

That night, the same man arrived at my grandfather’s hotel. He was there to collect $500 for the suit that gramps had ruined during the fight. Grandpa said, no, I’m not paying you for the suit. Words were exchanged again, and granddad suggested that they step back outside. This time, however, the other man pulled his hand out from behind him to reveal a cast. Turns out that he had broken his hand on gramp’s head, but grandpa hadn’t noticed.

As an added twist, the Golden Gloves competition was in Columbus that weekend, and the large, suit wearing gentleman was the 2nd place champion.

Others have told me stories of when they were younger and got into trouble. They’ve said that often their parents would respond with “call Bill, he’ll take care of you.”

One employee at the company started in a temporary position for my grandfather. His two week employment has turned into 35 years. He still speaks with reverence whenever he tells a story about grandpa.

I don’t know what happens to us after we die, but I hope that wherever my grandfather is, he can see me, and find some reason to be proud.

Here's What I Think of You!

















Suckers.

Almost used to this fatherhood thing. Be back soon.

The Force is Strong with This One...












You will change my diaper now...

Recent Developments

















Name: Little Miss Magic
Father: KOTWF
Mother: Red
DOB: February 5, 2006
Time of Birth: 3:15 pm
Weight: 9 pounds 2 Ounces
Length: 21 Inches

More to come after I've had some sleep.

Paid Advertisement

Coming soon, to a theatre near you: GIRLS GONE WILDE!





















Special thanks to Oarah for helping clean up my amateurish photoshop.

The Things I Do For You

I know I haven't been around much. This whole fatherhood thing is kicking my ass. And I'm not even there yet.

Red and I got to spend the night in the hospital last night, getting her blood pressure, temperature, and reflexes checked every half-hour. On the plus side, they gave her a sedative, so she slept almost through the night, which means I slept almost through the night.

This morning, I kissed her goodbye, promised to come back to visit later today, and ran out the door in order to be late for work.

While I'm dealing with this stuff, and probably having a baby some time in the next week, I'll give you some new toys to play with:

Condomania
The only place I know of that sells custom fitted condoms. Just print out the measuring tool, measure to see (in medical terms here) just how dinky is your wang, then order your exact size. Personally, I still haven't placed my order because I'm right in between two sizes: Harvey Villachez and Kenny Baker.

Pandora
This little bit of fun is from the same people who do the Music Genome Project. It is a streaming radio station that is custom tailored to your tastes. Punch in a song title or artist you like, and they'll give you music that has similar traits. After a few "thumbs up" or "thumbs down" you should have your station dialed in and experience some cool new music.

Enjoy yourselves while I'm out populating the world.

Home Entertainment!

There are a lot of changes going on among the females in the house. Red is getting pregnanter and pregnanter ( is that possible or a word?) and, in the meantime, our dog Layla has gone through the change of life prematurely.

For a cool Franklin, our veterinarian was happy to put her on one of those instantaneous weight loss programs. You know the ones. She went in weighing 23 pounds, and woke up two hours later weighing 22.5, minus one uterus.

None of this is funny.

The home entertainment comes in once you add the acoutrements that the vet gave us to keep Layla from licking and chewing on her hysterectomy incision. She keeps walking her new collar into walls and not being able to go forward. I've had to physically pull the dog off of corners of the counter four times in the last two days. This is entertainment at its best. A stupid dog wearing oversized headgear.

See for yourself.
































C'mon! Admit it! That's funny shit.

Change is in the wind

Thanks for reading! (cue crickets) I know it's been a while since I've posted, but I've been busy.

What!?! You ask. How could anything take me away from this blog, which I snatched from the jaws of death and raised from a cub as if it was my own? What in the world, besides the last fitful slumber of my mortal coil, could prevent me posting the details of who said what at the mall last night, and how much Stacy likes Johnny but Johnny likes Steve? Why would I allow anything to come between me and my beloved, adoring fan(s)?

Because any day now, the greatest masterpiece of my life will arrive:



I'm going to start blogging again on a regular basis, because I don't want to forget a single detail of how I act, how I feel, what I think, and just how much scotch I can consume between midnight feedings. I may start blogging a bit more about my family, and my daughter, but rest assured, it will still be fucked up and funny. I'm still the same KOTWF.

I'm here for you, baby.

Apparently, I like wasting my time reading other people’s shit

Matthew over at Defective Yeti has started a meme which is supposed to say something about you by listing the most recent site you’ve visited for each letter of the alphabet. Follow the link below to read all the details or to make your own list. Mine’s below. Luckily Matthew only included letters, so it looks like I visit a lot less porn sites than I do. Otherwise, there'd be a lot of links to "18andready.com" or "99chicks1dick.com" or "85andstillready.com."

These are my URL ABCs:

• A is for asphaltroofing.org - Don't visit a lot of "A" sites. This one was for work, some time ago
• B is for boycottgillette.com/spychips.html - A funny little thing I saw the other day. Apparently, Gillette is spying on us
• C is for capitalone.com - These people are dumb enough to loan me money.
• D is for defectiveyeti.com - This is the guy that made blogging look easy and fun enough that I decided to try it. Blame him.
• E is for ebay.com - Wanna buy some used porn?
• F is for fishfucker.com - Funny shit....when he updates.
• G is for gmail.google.com - Still no mail. Nobody loves me.
• I is for izzlepfaff.com - Quite possibly the funniest guy on the net
• J is for jamesandthebluecat.blogspot.com - Haven't decided what I think about this....and yet I go back
• K is for kotwf.blogspot.com - IT'S ME! YAY! I WISH I'D FUCKING POST SOMETHING!
• L is for license.shorturl.com - Stupid stupid stupid email gag.
• M is for mapquest.com - Going to Atlanta in two weeks.
• N is for netflix.com - I'm working my way through the first season of Sopranos
• O is for ohiolottery.com - My coworkers and I actually didn't win millions of dollars.
• P is for porktornado.diaryland.com - Funny stuff.
• S is for somethingawful.com - There's something about ridiculously offensive stuff that just makes me giggle
• T is for thewvsr.com - How many "fucks" were in Deadwood last week?

What Are the Odds?

With the Papal Election commencing, and given the human condition/tendency toward sin, and given that everybody is always looking for a quick buck, does this surprise anybody?

If you've following the news at all, then the front runners shouldn't surprise you, but I think I will agree with The New York Times' Frank Delaney when placing my bets:

Still, were the lure of gambling to overpower the fear of God in me (and, God knows, it might), I'd have a crack at a few of the outsiders. For instance, at 25-1, Angelo Scola is an interesting bet; he's the patriarch of Venice, speaks several languages (including English) and is only 63 years old. And have a look at the Argentine, Jorge Mario Bergoglio, also showing strongly at 12-1. And though he is not even given odds (in Irish racing parlance, a "rank outsider"), Cardinal Justin Rigali of Philadelphia is a very effective Vatican operator and truly worth a piece of my money; after all, in 1977 Karol Wojtyla was such a long shot he had scarcely left the paddock before the others were round the first bend.

My money's on the bear....

Problems

Sorry I haven’t been posting that often. You see, I’m concerned because I think my wife might be dead.

The sex is the same, but the dishes are starting to pile up……

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Part 3

My father got so drunk the next night that he spent a couple hours talking to my brother and I about our inheritance. Whenever we would tell him that we understood and he didn’t need to worry about us, he would say that we needed to know this because he could die at any time. Hell, he said, he could get syphilis tonight.

A new couple arrived at the fishing camp that evening, and they joined us for dinner. Dad spent the entire dinner hour trying to get his pasta salad from his plate to his mouth. Unsuccessfully. Finally, my brother lured him to bed with a half bottle of One Barrel Rum and he passed out. Once an hour, we left the bar to check on him and make sure he was still breathing. He usually was.

The next day, we went north to Mexico (an hour boat ride) to a place where there are underwater caves just chock-full-o-fishes. We caught myriad Red Snapper, as well as a bunch of yellow snapper, black snapper, rock snapper, and something that the guide, Luis, kept calling a "hamburger." On the way back south, Luis said "By the way, if we are stopped by any rangers, do not mention the live-well in the boat. Where we just caught those fish is a nature reserve."

Great.

That night, while Luis was cleaning our poached fish, my brother was walking around in the water beside the dock, picking up conch, moving them, and putting them down again for no apparent reason. The guide said, "Hey Todd, you might not want to be in there. There are Moray Eels living under the dock."

"Right." Todd said. "You can’t scare me, Luis."

Just then, a pair of eels sped out from beneath the dock, between Todd’s legs, and attacked the fish entrails Luis had thrown into the water. Todd pulled a Savior moment as he ran across the surface of the water back to the dock. We watched in horrid fascination as the two lime-green leviathan rolled and riled and tore at the bits of snapper. Each was about 4 feet long, and as big around as a soda can. Their ugly, dragon faces masticated fiercely, sending crimson billows out through the water with each bite.

"Those are the babies." Luis said, "The adults are over six feet long, and this big around." He held his hands together as if they were wrapped around a milk jug.

"Fuck" Todd and I said together.

The next day, we dressed back up in our suits and took the boat ride to San Pedro. We had about two hours to kill, so we wandered the town in search of souvenirs for our wives and a particular bar we had not had the chance to visit yet.

The bar was called "Hammock House." It was three stories high, on stilts. It was open air, overlooking the ferry I described earlier. Instead of chairs, there were hammocks and rope seats throughout the bar. You would get your cocktail and then go lie in a hammock while you drank. After a couple of "hangover helpers" I ordered a mango salsa lobster sandwich. Damn that was good.

The Hammock House has a calendar on the wall called "the golf cart drop." When I asked about it, I was informed that it was a betting pool. About once a month, a golf cart gets driven/knocked/dropped off of the ferry. For five bucks, you get to own a date on the calendar. If the golf cart goes in on your day, then you get the pot. I just love the fact that it happens often enough for there to be a betting pool.

We finally made it back to the airport, and who should be waiting to pilot the next flight to Belize City? Our Ass-Tastic Canadian Friend. She took one look at us, said "Gentlemen" and stormed out of the airport. Our flight was delayed a half hour while they tracked down a replacement pilot. Finally, we got on board, and again there was not enough room, so Todd sat in the copilot seat. At one point he convinced our pilot to fly straight into a storm cloud. The resulting pressure drop caused us to fall about 200 feet before the wings bit air again. Todd and the pilot laughed while every passenger buckled their seatbelts.

I found out that the airport in Belize City has a waving gallery for friends and family to come bid their loved ones adieu as they take off. Lord knows the people on the plane can’t see them and probably don’t care, as they’re busy going 300mph and taking off at the time, but it is a nice sentiment.

In my world, where people come and go every day, and where a plane ride is as common place as blondes in L.A., no one takes the time for a fond farewell. Gone are the crowds waving as the ocean-liners leave port. Gone are the beautiful women in polka dot dresses running down platforms beside trains. Gone is just a little bit of the romance, a little bit of the magic, and a little bit of the bravery that it takes to leave home behind.

They won’t remember my name, my face, or even my visit. They certainly don’t miss me now that I’m gone. But on that day, as I took to the skies, a small part of Belize waved goodbye and bent their thoughts toward my safe passage home.

Part 2

A van was waiting for us, so we climbed in with our luggage and asked that we please be taken to a liquor store. After spending forty Belize dollars (twenty US) we climbed back into the van carrying two bottles of rum and a bottle of vodka. The brief Island tour continued as we made our way to the dock where a boat was waiting.

San Pedro is a beautiful, touristy, third world town. There are three streets running through town, aptly named first, middle, and last. They are paved with sand. As far as I’m concerned, any place that is paved with sand is okay by me. There are any number of island shops selling trinkets, restaurants offering up fresh conch and lobster, and bars selling an endless supply of Belliken Beer and One Barrel Rum. We would learn more about San Pedro as the weekend wore on. Finally, the van pulled up by the beach, and we headed out to the waiting skiff. Our bags were loaded up, and we began our 20 minute boat ride to El Pescador, our fishing camp.

The boat ride was past the town, past myriad bars and resorts, and several miles up the island. We were inside the lagoon, and could see the waves breaking against the reef about a half mile away. Inside the reef, the water was calm, and the bottom teemed with exotic life eight feet below our hull. As we flew through the water, I soaked up the warm tropic sun and the light misting of saltwater from the occasional wave. I also opened up the bottle of one barrel and sampled some local culture.

Bob greeted us at the Dock of El Pescador and showed us to the bar, not our rooms. I liked this place already. It was a two story hotel, right on the beach, with an open air bar, a swimming pool, and hammocks strung up between palms. Eventually we found our rooms where we changed out of our suits and into something a bit more comfortable, then settled in to the laid back attitude of our surroundings. Our first night consisted of meeting some other guests, eating a delicious dinner, and falling asleep with the doors to our rooms open. We were miles from town in a tropic paradise, sleeping in clean pressed sheets with a cool breeze blowing in from the water and shaking the palms outside.

6:00am came and we ate Heuvos Rancheros for breakfast. This is fresh flour tortilla, spicy refried black beans, eggs over easy, cheese, and salsa all together on a plate. Hot damn was it good. Then our guide took us out onto the salt flats where we waded and fished for bone fish. We caught some bones, and we caught some barracuda. We also saw some neat bars we wanted to check out that night.

After the fishing, we ate dinner, then convinced Antonio, the bartender at the hotel, to close early and go to town with us. We hailed a taxi by turning the light on at the end of the dock and waiting for a boat to stop, then headed towards the city.

Our initial visit to the city had been a little disorienting because of the errands that our van driver ran with us and our unscheduled liquor store stop. The entire town is actually only about a mile long, and three blocks wide. It is divided at one point by a man-made canal, which is crossed at one point only by a ferry, powered by a strong man and a rope. All day and night, a man pulls the ferry back and forth across the stream using his rope, and charges one dollar per person, or four dollars per golf cart for the privilege. The dock at which we met our boat originally is actually about twenty-five feet from the airport.

There are not enough people on the island to keep all the nightspots hopping all the time, so you end up with a sort of moveable feast. The entire town keeps to a schedule that makes each place completely packed and completely hopping for about two hours per night. We were at Fido’s from 10:00 to midnight, at Jaguars from midnight to 2:00 and Big Daddy’s from 2:00 to 4:00 when the town finally goes to sleep. Fido’s had a live band and a girl that insisted on stroking my leg until I said that I thought I saw my wife at the other end of the bar. Big Daddy’s had a couple of gargantuan zubba-dubbas that Antonio was infatuated with. But Jaguars was an interesting experience indeed.

Jaguars sits on middle street, in the busiest part of town. The entrance is a giant wildcat head with glowing red eyes and smoking nostrils. You walk in through the gaping mouth, and find yourself in a dance club with a jungle motif, drunk college students, and enough laser lights flashing randomly around the room to pose a serious risk to people’s eyesight. It was there, just after they finished playing the Grease Mega Mix (along with projected video) and had gone back to techno music, that we saw Lieutenant Lesbo and her non-pilot life partner. She approached us and said, "Gentlemen! I just want to thank you. I understand that after you got off my plane yesterday, you told everyone I was a lesbian."

Needless to say, this caught us as a bit of a shock. Who would we have told? Why would we have done so? Who was this bitch? "We didn’t say that" I responded in my best bewildered voice.

"Right. Whatever."

"We didn’t say that."

"Sure. I’m supposed to believe that?"

"Yes you are. We didn’t say it. We thought it, but we didn’t say."

That might have been one step too far. You should never insult the person that has power over whether or not you get off of an island in a third world country.

Tune in tomorrow for Part 3: Escape from Ambergris Caye (Abridged)