Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Wait.. Weren’t we just here? This isn’t Canada?

Per my request, my handler left the car running following our departure from our parched environs until we reached a more agreeably location, even when he stopped to eat, murder hitchhikers, cavort with prostitutes of both genders, or whatever my imagination decided it was he was doing. The television programs in this nation are beginning to get to me. After a rather exhaustive journey and a wonderful evening spent within the confines of the Johnson Presidential Jacuzzi Suite. As always, peace did not persist and I was, yet again, jostled into a bit of sport:

At this point, I’m familiar with the American pastime of racing to the point where the thought of it induces unpleasant sensations and irregular bowel movements. Unlike the contents of my colon, my infatuation with it had seem to run its course. That is, until..

They let me in a car. They let me in a car!

THEY LET ME IN A CAR!@$!@$%!

Whatever adrenaline a toad can produce during the course of an eight minute period, let it be known that I produced it. My handler managed to finish in dead last out of six runners, with an average lap time of 35.58s. I, on the other hand, decimated the competition:

The second and third place finishers didn’t even bother getting on the podium. It was that bad. After the obligatory spraying of champagne, which went thoroughly unappreciated by the staff of the racing facility, it was back to the hotel for some wind down and a fine display from a visitor who happened to be in town to film one of those bizarre ‘trick shot’ billiards competitions for ESPN. He invited me onto the table to witness his skill.

I was nervous, but he was apparently proficient enough to manage what he dubbed the “Lipton Two-Pocket Sweaty Teabag.“

Impressive.

Posted by Pooptoad on 08/12 at 10:05 PM
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