Friday, March 18, 2005

Wanted: Cowboy for 'Village People' Tribute Band--NO POSERS!

There are a few specific types of people in the world that I would want to survive a nuclear holocaust.

A short list includes: people who dance like no one is watching; people who's glass is always half-full; people who do as they please; people who don't spend their lives up to the holocaust appologizing.

Those fit for extinction are: people that have desk calendars imploring them to "Dance like no one is watching!", "The glass is always half-full!", "If it feels good, DO IT!"; namby-pambies.

While my twin brother C and I were in Edmonton on business, we saw a man fit to repopulate the Earth after a cataclysmic event (and would likely enjoy the challenge of all that sexin').

The Sandman Hotel in Edmonton has a grotto of sorts, complete with an indoor pool, hot tub, and astro turfed picnic table area--a very relaxing and social atmosphere. The rooms of the Sandman overlook this grotto; some rooms even have patio doors opening on it.

At one in the morning, mountain time, there came a whoopin' and a hawlerin' from this grotto which C and I could not resist investigating. Earlier, there had been some teens enjoying booze at the picnic tables while a fella and his mother relaxed in the hot tub. By the sounds of it, the relaxing was officially over.

Peeking out from our second floor room, there below us was a rail thin, 60-something-year-old in tight Levi jeans and a huge, white, ten gallon hat. He hollered for everyone to stay exactly where they were--he'd be right back! For the deaf, his broad gestures communicated the same message, with the same enthusiasm.

C and I smacked our lips and poured a scotch.

Moments later, the Cowpoke returned to the pool deck (running) in nothing but his ten gallon, some tighty briefs in tastful navy, and a huge lit cigar. As if that wasn't a big enough statement, he put an exclaimation mark on it by dropping a perfect cannon ball into the hot tub. The son and mother didn't even see it coming.

The high-jinx he got up to befit a man one third his age--he was powered by what must have been enough booze to drop an ox, and an unchecked libido in full bloom. Finally, to conserve energy, he began floating in the pool like a corpse adrift.

Neither C or I saw what happened to his cigar.

As the evening began to wind up, thanks to some fat killjoy from the front desk who, at 2:30am came and, in a "Romper Room" voice said, 'Let's pretend that it's 5 to 10, okay? Five more minutes!', I made a mad sprint across our dark room to get my camera. Don't ask me why, but i desperately wanted to have a picture of this perfect specimen of 'homo parti animalus'; but the room was impossible to navigate!

Crashing around, grabbing at everything in the dark room like a drowning mariner, I hit the lightswitch. This, in turn, illuminated C pressed against the window wearing nothing more than his tighty navy briefs. He went into shock and, rather than take evasive action, stood perfectly still like a chameleon.

I am sad to report that, by the time I had camera in hand, it was already too late. The cowboy was gone.

Leaving only a girl with massive fake tits in a flimbsy white Hooters bikini, attempting to have sex with her "friend" in the pool.

damn it all.

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