Wrapped Up Like A Douche

The Storm Before the Quiet
Man, you folks really rolled out the cleverness guns for the caption contest--it saddens and dismays me that we’ve been so slammed here at WULAD CentCom that I haven’t been able to give your submissions the attention they so middle-income-ly deserve.

The short list of award winners:

Best in Show: ((Y))
Most Improved: NBG
Lifetime Achievement: Norbizness (especially since I stole the idea from him)
Cy Young (A.L.): Gene
Black Market Emmy labeled "S.L.": Drew
Cy Young (N.L.): Uncle Roger
Best Editing: Shakti Reloaded
New Star: Molly
Bubbé Prize: A. Cooper
Palm D’Or: Analogcabin

You'll all get your damn prizes, probably when I get back from vacation. When will that be? Three weeks or so. I may occasionally stumble into an internet café and scribble some drunken garbled warblings, but otherwise you're on your own, which is fine because you were making your sweet way toward Gomorrah before WULAD came along anyway.

I leave you with the following scene from my father’s youth which somehow expresses my thoughts on our imminent separation:

The year was 1967. My father, 25, had recently enlisted in the Naval Reserve to avoid being drafted into the Army. After a brief period of waiting, he received his orders to report to Treasure Island (where I would later live for three months, boringly enough), to enjoy Basic Training before being shipped off to Pearl Harbor and Points Southeast Asian.

As my dad was packing, his father (a Naval vet himself, having served in the South Pacific) asked him to come into the living room and have a seat. Nervous, my dad sat down to listen to what his father had to say.

"My son," he said gravely, "You're about to head off to war, but I want to give you some advice to take with you—advice that helped me, and could help you, too."

"What is it, Dad?" my father asked, wondering what paternal guidance could live up to this weighty occasion.

"Son, there's something I want you to remember," my grandfather uttered, staring steely-eyed across the living room. "No matter what you do in the Navy..."

"Yes?" my dad asked as he leaned in closely.

"Don't bend over in the shower."

... See you next month, kids.