And now, this being Friday, I bring you kids another item in the informative and entertaining series,
Events with Andy Sensat that Have Left Emotional Scars
The Beach Trip
The trip to Port Aransas was pretty darn fun. Let me get that admission out of the way before Andy jumps down my throat for making him sound like a downer. But it, nevertheless, had certain "Sensatesque" maniacal qualities. Part one was the trip down there. I was the driver and Andy was the navigator. And I use the term "navigator" very loosely. Mostly, between the beers and smoke Andy would vaguely suggest that we drive in a certain direction. We would rock out to some tunes for a long period of time, and then he would snap out of his fugue state and say something like, "None of this looks familiar. I think we better U turn and look for a different road." Then we would drive back the other direction and look for a road that looked familiar to Andy that we could try out. An entertaining, if not efficient, system of navigation. Eventually we ran out of dry land and had to take a ferry, which was a good thing, because it meant we weren't headed for Mexico.
Also on this trip, I learned of Andy's desire to breed kangaroos with fangs (an idea that I warned him against) and to construct a trailer park in Las Vegas that had the shape of a mushroom, with a casino in the upper portion and parking spaces for the RVs in descending concentric circles around the stem. Once in Port Aransas, we frequented a seafood restaurant dubbed The Crazy Cajun where Andy spotted Tony Price and shouted a greeting of "Hey Crinklefinger!" while mimicking her bent finger with one of his own upraised paws. She looked a little amused and a little nervous, seeing as how Andy shouted out his greeting to her from about 2 feet away. Inside the restaurant, Andy stole a live crawfish from one of the kids at a table near us, named it Mr. Pinchy or something like that, and decided to take it home as a friend. He hollared out to the waiter that if there was going to be a problem with his newly appropriated catch, then he didn't want to hear about it, grabbed the crawfish up off the table, and fled the establishment. At our little beach bungalow, Andy demanded that all of the members of our vacation party appreciate Mr. Pinchy on the same level that he did, and he waved him in our faces to demonstrate the point. The girls screamed, and Andy, crawfish in one hand and beer in the other, angrily staggered out the door to spend some quality time with his new friend. No one is sure what became of Mr. Pinchy after that, but he was never seen again. Andy himself seems confused and a little angry, even to this day, when we bring up Mr. Pinchy and his unknown fate. Let's all hope that somehow, through the hand of God, that Mr. Pinchy is relaxing somewhere in a tiny, crawfish-sized beach chair even as I write this.
The way home involved Public Enemy and a lot of general tomfoolery.
Well, it's Friday, and I've wasted enough time. It's time to go home and see Cassidy. Peace out, kids.