As I try and try to wash off the smell, and wait patiently for the river of mud a-la the Chocolate Thunder Review to stop flowing from my body, I keep remembering my flight away from Rusty 2006. The inflight movie was "King Kong", which I found to be not quite as bad as everyone had told me. The four-inch screen 16 feet in front of me may have buffered the experience. The perpetual shaking of alcohol withdrawal and my own smell made it difficult to sleep, so I chose to give "Kong" a try. How bad could it be?
Though you may be expecting a review of the movie, all I could think of as I watched was our own OneEar, crippled and gimpy this year, vomiting at the slightest provocation. As I watched Kong fight off three nippy T-Rexes, Rexi, Rexae?, I imagined our Wookie trying to give directions on his way to his car. When Kong was getting splashed with chloroform, I saw OneEar administering his own anesthetic and then, after only just a little bit, turning into a furry vomit fountain on a sidewalk in a bad neighborhood.
Kong's captivity on the stage on Broadway was an eerie parallel to this year's subdued Wookie, and his swatting at the planes on top of the Empire State Building really did remind me of the poor Wookie fending off continuously annoying questions from Clowns flying at him with
"How's your stomach, Wookie?"
"How's your back, Wookie?"
"Take some medicine, Wookie?"
"Why're you walking so funny, Wookie?"
"I wonder why you can't carry your own equipment this year, Wookie. UGH!! Ok, now I get it"
"Sure are barfing a lot, Wookie."
Poor Kong. Poor Wookie. Our hero is fallen; or at least temporarily damaged.
Go back to the doctor, OneEar. You're not better yet. No one will compare you to Ben Aflac running to the Emergency Room for a headache yesterday and then leaking the life-and-death drama to the media.
