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Once upon a time, warm ocean breezes caressed each other tenderly, until they began to form strange shapes in the sand. He traced his toe 's outline on some paper and sold it to a friend who liked that sort of thing a little too much. He'd meant to talk to Hank about that. You know Hank right? Wasn't he the guy with the turbo scooter that played the same melody as death in a fast car ? No, he was the nearsighted child prodigy who ate Oreos in beer. Smuggling a new shipment of Ultram into Canada was like smoking manure thru a stove pipe for him.
Breeze developed into gale. Gale developed into a woman. The woman was developed, and her name was Breezilla.
Hank's son was 6. He loved Breezilla because she understood he needed Mumbletypeg like a hole in his darling teddy bear. Gerald, you see, had a ten finger, ten toe habit, necessitating a spiky Finglonger for poking and prodding. He'd tried to quit, and his friend the judge, the erstwhile beer dunker, the half-hearted half-wit, had hauled him halfway to the wedding chapel. Hank showed up halfway drunk on shore-leave. Shore-leave was strong stuff, and Hank wound up like a woozy yo-yo yeoman, proud as punch. But the judge, he jealously guarded his little half-heart from Gerald's Finglonger.
"I do", resonated resolutely throughout the entire oversized, overrated, smoke-blackened cajun swordfish, "Do you?" "I do" he raved ravenously, and the judge said "Well, okay then."
