Holy rocky mountain oysters batman...it's been so long since my thoroughbred waterhorse triumphed in this race that I had exiled him to an early retirement. Thankfully caring for the moose has been relatively easy on the budget as he happily subsists on a nutritious regimen of ruffled chips, power drinks and assorted gelatinous fruit snacks. Who knew that was the stuff that made champions…? On the bright side he loves this time of year because they play the Hippopotamus Christmas Song on the radio. Too bad there are no songs about the majestic (*snicker*snicker*) bison.
I say we celebrate our fanny packs off and then send these two out with a new mission. Does pooping little plastic turds in micros seem like a worthy charge? Oh hell, maybe they just beat each other senseless and the one that wins has to buy us drinks. Or we could race. Seems old hat, but it would probably behoove Ms. Cayuga to know that the multi-million-dollar command post that was built some years ago in the basement for the singular reason of tracking TB’s in race settings is being used again for it’s intended purpose. It can’t be getting much use these days with “The Dude” sporadically appearing (and then disappearing) from the different dimensions it finds itself banned to.
Just send me a mapquest on where we can meet to drink, discuss and use foul language (don’t send coords, I can’t find my damn GPS…haha).
~Szuchie