I twittered our vacation, tweeted my joys, Skyped my disappointments and Flickred my adventures on Facebook just like a movie star watching a bunch of pink balloons squeaking in the hands of bored clowns. Our triplicate outing felt like a bouncy bed creeping along the floor that suddenly wakes the neighbors, provides snickers and giggles, and becomes whipped cream Frenzy.
We went picnicking and accidentally meet the snake. Ginger and Abby screamed. God Almighty did they scream. They screamed like bilious man occupying a burning rickshaw, trying to eat jalapeno ice cream while navigating through a fireworks factory. Cubby the snake became our friend, at least until he gave birth to a dozen pink babies and I took a shovel and made snake pate'.
The rest of our busman's holiday unfolded peaceful-like except for that bubbly blowhard of a Judge wannabe Judy treating us plaintiffs like dogs and treating the defendant like the pink porcine he owned. We won the real pig, all squealing and snorting. Ginger verified it was an it. A don't ask, don't tell moment. Piggy lacked nuts so we added pinoli to the stuffing and declared it bib and tucker time.
We even asked the defendant if he wanted to join us at the luau. I set a bright pink table with flowers like any table dressed for a successful meal while placating a single-minded, biased blogger. Roasted porky plaintiff buried in leaves, surrounded by coals and marinated in exotic citrus. We created yummy buns!