Injuries & Maladies

A Note For The Mortician 12/03/2016


I have a few demands for my coffin. First I would prefer that it is an elaborate pine box. I’d like the inside to resemble a Sprint or Verizon store since that’s where I’ve killed some of my most pleasant times over the years.
I love the game we play there. First they act like my problem can only be solved “downtown” or at some other branch. Very often they’ll just ironically refer me to a phone number.
From the grave I would like to be exhumed whenever the new iphones are released at which time they could place promotional materials around the interior of the coffin. I’ll feel right at home!
Then when I make it clear that I’m not leaving the store without a solution they begin the stalling process. This is where they appear to enter information into the computer but make no progress. Based on the questions they ask me it seems we are always at step one.
If nature somehow causes my corpse to shift portside within my box I’d like a selection of phone cases on display in my coffin. I’ll search the variety throughout eternity and still not find a suitable one. Just like in the store! This coffin might be heaven.
The solution is in sight. They know how to fix my problem and that involves selling me a new phone. Initially this seems like a bad idea but the plan is astonishingly better than the one I have so I’d be a fool not to select this option.
Maybe some earthly happenstance would shift me starboard in my crypt. On this side I would like a wide selection of Samsung cases. This would help me consider the paradoxes of life, such as “who would buy a Samsung phone?”
Alas I leave happy from the phone store with a little shopping bag. A new phone and plans for my funeral all in one stop. Some people plan their retirement, I do this.
Larry Thack celebrated “receipt day” at Chicken-Filet by rolling his eyes whenever someone lied that it was his “pleasure”

Some Bad Things That Happened This Week Jun 16, 2026


It’s been a tough week for old Thack.
The other morning I removed my electric toothbrush from my mouth too soon. It furiously sprayed my face with the baking soda and Borax mixture I use as a paste. I was blinded and thrown into the corner of my bathroom as it savagely spewed its poison. Fortunately I was able to protect myself by hiding in the bathtub until the battery died. I spent that afternoon repainting.
My cat, Neptune, died this morning. He was flattened by a school bus which is particularly annoying since it’s summertime. Fortunately I had just run out of cat food so there’s no net-loss in this situation.
On Sunday we had a nice time with the nephews at Six Flags. The kids like the rides, but I like to read the t-shirts on the patrons at the park. I have found that Six Flags is one of the premier spots in the country to “T-shirt Watch” Alas, gone are the days when a t-shirt was just a sports-program with which you might affiliate yourself. T-shirts have now become an explanation of the attitudes, desires, and threats of its messenger. A few years ago, I would delight in the “I’m with stupid” shirts which gave way to the banal, “keep calm and …….”. Now the variety of bad t-shirts has overwhelmed Thack. Everyone seems to wear a unique and different message that I cannot fully read as they pass at a dizzying pace. As the crowd sped past me I read the shirts in vain and collapsed onto a park-bench that was soiled with a days-worth of tourist-leavings. My own t-shirt was now stained with the three food groups of Six Flags: ketchup, ranch, and orange nacho fluid. Ruined was my “You Can’t Ban These Guns” T shirt with arrows that pointed outwards implying the lethality of my arms.
For some reason I lost power in my house on Wednesday. I guess it rained last night. As a result I had to endure a prolonged experience of not hearing any news from Mr. Trump. When the power was restored I did enjoy staring at my clock as it blinked the incorrect time. This will often occupy me for a good bit.


Larry Thack left his wallet in a hot air balloon last Saturday

Crisis At Hudson Plaza 12/11/2015


“Walker Texas Ranger” is, of course, the greatest show of all time, but when you’re on episode four-in-a-row even Chuck Norris starts to look like he’s just reading the script. I needed a change of pace, so as soon as I finish this Time-Life infomercial for the DVD collection of Hee-Haw I’m going to get out for a spell.
Not much going on today. Can’t play backgammon at the senior center ‘cause the board’s in the shop, I’ve already picketed the new downtown mural for its leftist themes so maybe I’ll get a haircut. Figure I’ll just head over to the barber shop at Hudson Plaza. I like going there since I threw out my back. It’s the one place I can walk in all hunched over and grouchy and no one will notice- I truly fit in there. Unfortunately for my bad back I am forced to bend over and pick up a half-eaten sack of Popeye’s Louisiana Chicken someone has left in the parking lot. The crows have done what they could with it and now I shall take it to one of the shopping center’s numerous receptacles. It sure is a good thing old Thack came along to save the day. Littering is truly a criminal offense, far worse than murder or armed robbery if you really think about it.
The discs in my back shift and creak as I bend over to grab the rotting bag of food. The pain is unbearable and I let out a howl that redirects a stream of Jazzercisers in the opposite direction. As I limp toward the barbershop I notice another obstacle of trash that I cannot ignore. Again I bend over to apprehend the refuse and though stars fill my vision I maintain my balance and somehow retain my grip on this half-full extra-large drink from the sub shop. The pain from all this bending over is starting to affect my speech and as I drag one leg across the parking lot with my various collectable garbages a friendly woman asks if I might need some help. I can only utter “bo claaaabb foo” in response as my lungs fill with bile and my vision is hazed in pink. Another object of garbage appears on the horizon and I stoop down to snatch it as well. Now my sore back fails completely and I’m only able at this point to shuffle the full diaper into my gathering arms and hope it sticks to the gelatinous part of the partially consumed chicken thigh that projects from my arms. Crawling now, I’m able to climb onto the curb in front of the barber’s with my collection and deliver it to a receptacle. I roll onto my back in search of a trash can but cannot find one. What thing is this? No cans in sight! Only litter piled in cairns as monuments to evil. Where have the trashcans gone?
To be continued…

Larry Thack’s underwater mortgage might have an accident with a Christmas tree this weekend.

Crisis Continues at Hudson Plaza 12/18/2015

If you read last Saturday’s column you know I severely injured my back while picking up trash in the parking lot at Hudson Plaza in Fayetteville. I was headed for the barbershop cradling several trash items that had been littered throughout the parking lot. I had to end my story early last week so as not to consume any of the space needed by the left-wing columns that surround me. Here’s the heroic conclusion:
Ultimately I was helped up and into the barbershop by a young man who had just been relieved of a full head of hair and was now ready to go a week without showering. I collapsed into a waiting chair as the horrified barbers asked if I was ready or did I want to wait for Bob. I was given a blanket and a cup of coffee as they listened to my dreadful story. I was informed by the barbers that indeed it was not my imagination- there were no trashcans in the entirety of the shopping center. Some fifty thousand square feet of shopping space, over five hundred parking spaces, five stores, two restaurants, two barbers, and a full service auto repair shop at one of the busiest intersections in the entire county and not one trash can for the patrons?! Surely these cans are just in the shop for repairs, maybe getting fitted for the new 2016 liners that just came out? Oh, I know, they’re in the process of being emptied and it’s just taking a few minutes. Sadly, this is not the case. I am glumly informed with a hand on my back that the cans won’t be coming back.
A week has passed since my harrowing attempt to clean up a parking lot and watch an episode of “Gunsmoke” at the barbershop. The trash cans are still gone. Every day Fayetteville gets closer to being entirely consumed by this garbage. I fear this may be my last column as the life and hope has almost entirely drained from me as I lay in my sickbed.
“Oh cruel fate! What demon from the depths of hell created thee?” H. Simpson.

Larry Thack will be dressed as Chewbacca-Claus and listening to the wishes of children on Saturday at Black Dog Tactical from Noon-2pm

Chinese Take-OW! 10/10/2015


Surely you’ve all heard by now about the altercation between the Chinese Restaurant Delivery guy and Fayetteville’s only real hero, four star General William Livsey. No one was more upset than old Thack! My smoked duck arrived late and was no longer crispy as a result!
If you haven’t heard about it, allow me to explain the details. I wrote for the Army newspaper in [location redacted] so I’ll be apropos: War hero gets food delivered and decides he’s not hungry anymore. Delivery guy is greedy/mean and demands money. House-rats swipe and eat food. War hero trips, falls, suffers cuts by means of American flag delivery guy is burning/urinating on. Delivery guy calls cops on rats. War hero defends rats/flag and goes to jail.
This simple misunderstanding between a customer and delivery guy has now attracted global attention as everyone from Washington dignitaries to prison camp inmates in Korea are talking about this one.
The newspapers have done an admirable job covering this event, but in any free state the news is best delivered by the people. Fortunately the Chinese Restaurant has a “comments” page that they don’t seem to monitor. The people have chosen this as their forum and they have “spoked”. From the absurd to the racist, the senseless to the xenophobe, prepare yourselves citizens…..and go to this link: http://www.royalchefchinabistro.com/comment.asp



Larry Thack will be scalping tickets to the Trump rally in Atlanta today and will also seek a companion.

Chicken 09/12/2015


As I continue to age the things left undone in my life haunt me. Like for instance my dream of one day owning a fast-food restaurant.
Recently I sent in an application to Chick-Fila in the hopes that I could open a franchise right here in Fayette County. This was the heartbreaking letter I received in return:
Dear Mr. Thack, Thanks for your interest in becoming a Chick-Fila franchisee. While it’s true we’re hoping to install a restaurant within crawling distance of everyone in Fayette County, we must be very selective in our process. We have to regrettably decline your application at this time. As with all our applicants we have been observing you for the past few months and you scored too low on a number of our benchmarks. Your political opinions seem to be more public than is appropriate for our company. We try to maintain a publicly neutral position with regard to politics and culture as it doesn’t serve our business to align with any one group or another. That is unless, we are talking about chickens- which we hate. Also, frequently you were spotted around town not smiling- nice attitude! On a number of occasions you were seen at one of our establishments enjoying your lunch. That’s all fine and well sir, but where was your Bible? And Hi-liter? Just the same we would like to thank you for your patronage and support of our goal to bring to justice all the chickens who have what’s coming to them. Sincerely, John Jones, Human Liaison.
Oh well, that would’ve been sweet. I’ve been murdering chickens in my sleep for months. It did sort of sound like a full time job though. Thankfully, one franchise answered my prayers! I will soon open the newest location for “Happy Fish Good Time” in that shopping center amongst Dollar General, Dollar Tree, and Family Dollar. Oh well, guess I’ll be picking up loaded diapers in the parking lot for the rest of my life.

Larry Thack will spend the weekend choosing both a new lucky number and favorite color

No Blessed Day for Thack! 09/04/2015

Today has been all downhill since that lady at Ross told me to have a “blessed day”. I’m just trying to buy a yoga mat and it turns into a religious conclave!
Just after that I motor over to my favorite psychic who is generally pretty accurate about how bad things are going to turn out for me when lo and behold, she’s packed up and left. I thought something was a little-off when I approached what appeared to be a clean house with a well-manicured lawn. There’s some sign on the door that claims the place is under new management, but that doesn’t sit right with old Thack. I’m not sure I want a psychic with a manager. I suppose a little “reckless eyeballing” did her in. Guess I need to meet the “new guy”. The screen door buckles and snaps and grudgingly opens to expose Madame Barbara. She seems okay: not that into it, wishes I were dead, would rather eat her lunch- very much like a bicycle salesman. Fittingly the place smells like Gypsy water and it comforts me on the spot. After an introductory reading of my horoscope in the AJC, which she confirms as accurate, she outlines the setbacks, obstacles, and downfalls I will encounter throughout the month. Twenty bucks for the affirmation is always a good deal! As I double-pushed the screen door with the inappropriately sized spring she called out to me, “have a blessed day.” Didn’t she hear any of that stuff she just told me?
When you tell someone to “have a blessed day” you’re assuming way too much about him. It may be the most presumptuous and puerile thing anyone has ever said and here in the South we are forced to endure it many times a day. I would love to have that line replaced with, “have a painless death sir!”
Again I was beaten-down by the comfortless cliché after receiving my lunch of fish tacos at a local unnamed drive thru. You just served me a bag of fried poison- is this your way of apologizing?
I have a friend who spent eleven years in a monastery, graduated from divinity school, and spends countless hours in hospitals giving alms. I’m pretty sure they’re alms, but maybe he’s saying arms or ahms. It’s hard to tell, he’s always rolling his eyes and making a face when he says it. Anyway, the point is my friend Neal Kellogg, who wishes to remain anonymous, spent most of his life dedicated to the pursuit of one day being legally sanctioned to bless water, wine, and bread. And here we have all these amateurs throwing blessings every which way. Neil sacrificed most of his life for the honor of blessing things, now people bless entire days like it’s nothing. Rude.

Larry Thack has chosen Randy Ognio as Fayette’s tallest, frowniest commissioner

Go Set a Watch….Man 08/01/2015

I find it mildly disturbing that Harper Lee has suddenly discovered an old manuscript on the same week I planned on releasing my own lost classic, Anthology of Complaints. For better than half a century I have labored against humanity, compiling my struggles into a digestible, readable, and only three hundred page compilation of various wrongs against my sensibilities. Lost for years under a pile of magazines on my parson’s table, this recently discovered magnum opus is destined to become next year’s go-to Christmas gift at remaindered bookstores nationwide.
In Anthology of Complaints I deal with many struggles common to us all in these pages, like why does that woman in church turn around every time somebody sneezes, and how come nobody ever beats celebrity chef Bobby Flay on that show “Beat Bobby Flay”?
I fully expected to debut the “Anthology” atop the best seller list but watched it barely crack the top fifty. Rather, all the literary buzz went to the chain-smoking, porch-sitting hack Harper Lee and her so-called “new” book, Go Set a Watchman. My sadness might be compared to the heartbreak felt by the crew of that genius film, Avengers-Age of Ultron, who had to watch the top box office spot go to Antman! What the hell?
Of course I briefly dated Miss Lee which makes it all the more hurtful. I recall sitting on her porch debating which of us was more Southern, yet immune and opposed to the stereotypes. Although I was clearly the more Southernesque of the two of we, Harper had a wistful, humid silence that would cover that porch for decades. Indeed she rarely left that porch unless she was to go into town to buy mosquito repellant.
Ever the Thackist I have decided not to let this fake book release get me down for I have a new one coming along that I wrote when I was just a boy. It is a children’s book entitled I Have Chosen To Procure A Pet. I can’t see anything possibly coming along to doom this book’s release.


Larry Thack was dismissed from the Dollar Shave Club due to an undeliverable address.

Maybe Don’t Run 05/16/2015

I’m not sure what the (ACRB)Atlanta Citizen Review Board is but recently it has installed around Atlanta billboards urging people not to run from the Police. This seems to coincide with the recent tragic deaths at the hands of various police officers throughout our nation.
I applaud the efforts of the ACRB. They understand when you’re in the wild you need to know how to behave and when to be cautious. Recently I thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail and it occurred to me that the problems of the city are not unlike those of the wilderness. For instance, if you were to see a bear in the wild and run from it, hikers know that it would almost certainly catch and kill you. Similarly if you are in an East Atlanta Walmart parking lot and run from a policeman who has just lumbered across your path, there is a likelihood that you will be shot. Think about it this way, if you bleed in the ocean you will be attacked by sharks and if you nervously wear a hooded sweatshirt and get spotted by a police officer at night you will be shot. It’s really not all that complicated you just need to understand the rules of the wilderness or rather the subdivision. I once smiled at a Jack Russell Terrier who then latched onto my ankle and chewed away as I screamed in horror. Its owner kindly informed me that when I “bared my teeth” or “smiled” this was an act of hostility to the dog. This is not unlike how you should be careful around policemen. In some parts of the country if you look at a cop “funny” you will be apprehended and have your spine severed. Good to know!
Of course it’s truly not fair to the police to label them all with these qualities. When I was a boy I had a pet German Shepherd named Werner. He and I were best pals and would freely roam about our village until stories began to surface of some cases when the dogs would attack. Werner was shunned and began taking pills. We moved him to an artist’s camp and I never saw Werner again.
Lately the most dangerous breed of law enforcer has been the Sheriff or Police Chief. These seemingly docile policemen have been taken in by families and friends only to strike when least suspected. These captive wolves lay dormant in their domesticated settings until overcome by their inherent need to shoot people. The lesson here is simple: if you lie down with wolves, or perhaps tour a model home…..


Larry Thack just got pulled over for a “broken” taillight

Waitress! 4/11/2015

Whether travelling to Cuba or Georgia’s top beach, Panama City, you can bet old Thack is going to have a run-in with some waiter or waitress.
Tourist spots seem to serve a lot of fake Coke. Sometimes they just get the mixture wrong, but often it’s just not real. Grinds my gears! One time I called ‘em on it and they brought me another fake Coke with a black straw. I was the only one in the place with a “marked” straw and I felt the staff’s demon-eyes on me the entire meal. If you’re fortunate enough to be served a real Coke you then begin a refill-war with your server. They can’t stand it when you refuse a refill, but if you continue sipping the never-ending drink you’ll be a diabetic before the salad arrives. I have taken to hiding my drink behind the napkin holder and a makeshift construction of table menus and cell phones. Seems to work, but some waiters confront me with accusatory tones and stalk away from the table clearly planning their revenge. Once a pleasant indulgence, this force-feeding is now making me sick and worse; causing me to lose my love of the once rare and pleasant taste of the Coke.
Another disappointing thing that happens uniquely at pizza restaurants occurs all over the globe the moment the pizza arrives at the table. The server glides athletically through the restaurant to your table with the pizza. She is smiling from behind the steam which rises like a dense fog from your glorious pie. Red oil from the Pepperoni runs over the side of the well-worn steel sheet that for just an instant almost seems edible as well. The smile suddenly leaves her face when she is met by the site on the table. She looks with puzzled horror at this table that is seemingly incapable of holding the “Chosen-Pie”. For heaven’s sake! There are cups, napkins, various trash, salad dishes, forks, and all sorts of items defending the table from accepting its lord-pizza. She has clearly never confronted this obstacle before and can only stand there in pain. Maybe if they’d get some of those U-shaped things to put the pizza on like a real pizza restaurant, they could advance from being just a pizza parlor.
Don’t get me started about the check. You do one little thing wrong and they make you sit there all day waiting for the bill. No, I don’t want my coffee “warmed-up” Gary! I just want to be released from your hostagery.

Larry Thack likes his Coffee brown

Night Terrors 05/30/2015

At least once a year or so I seem to find myself searching for a birthday gift for my wife. This has gotten more difficult over the years as we’ve progressed into a new stratum of gift-giving and I’m not sure what it is. When we were young, I’d just get “things”, then I’d get shelves and bags to store the “things”, now I suppose she’d rather have “solutions” and “experiences”.
I went down to the natural foods store to see if they had a remedy for her “night-cussing”. For years now she would succumb to episodes where the slightest noise would set her off. She just screams expletives and mixes in some roars of laughter. It’s very witch-like and I’m afraid if word gets out some of the ladies from the church might run her out of the diocese. Anyway, the lady who runs our favorite health store is an expert at kindly telling me how wrong I am all the time. Although many years younger than me she looks much older and thereby feels it’s okay to talk to me like a child. Despite the fact that she exists as the paradigm of pretentiousness, she does possess a broad knowledge of homeopathic tonics and cure-alls. It always takes me a minute to adapt to the obnoxious and unnatural smell of her store. She cooks a stew throughout the day and it makes the whole place smell like a Chinese restaurant’s dumpster just urinated into a corpse-sock. Fortunately she knew exactly what I needed and I was allowed to stumble out and vomit on the sidewalk. A bottle of Lavendula angustifolia oil would do the trick! She also recommended a dreamcatcher which I was able to make myself from items I found in and around trashcans at the Peachtree City Wyndham. Incidentally, I find that a top-notch place for scavenging and it also gives me the opportunity to introduce myself and welcome visitors to the area.
Every year I find myself at a jeweler but leave empty-handed. I went to a small jeweler in a strip mall and met an eyeless man who seemed more interested in showing me men’s jewelry. As he showed me his bracelet and accompanying rings he explained how he got the scars on each finger. All of the scars he attributed to the skulls of various people which were credited by name. One scar was from a spill down the stairs right before he was to play golf. We agreed that was the worst. Frightened by the jeweler, I justified that she would only want jewelry to “hock it”. Not for the money, just so she could say, “I had to hock all my jewelry”.
This year feels like it’s going to be pretty low-key. I’ll do the usual things like pick up her prescriptions and leaf-blow her “sitting-areas”.


Larry Thack is still waiting for his car-tags even though they cashed the check two weeks ago!

LT's Holiday Fitness Plan 12/06/2014


Thanksgiving can be rough on a man as vain as myself. I am one of society’s “beautiful people” (see picture) and watching my figure during the holidays is a struggle. Rather than get caught in a situation where I can’t pass a mirror I start a vigorous exercise program right after the great feast.
I have begun to organize kickball games at the senior center and games will be held in the field next to Dairy Queen on highway 85. There will also be touch football games in the Ingle’s parking lot but I’ll only organize that one if I get to be all-time quarterback. I’m waiting to hear back from UPS regarding temporary holiday employment- brown is a slimming color and dropping boxes can be a real workout. I also recently purchased a Gazelle machine from a yard sale and it has become a part of my daily ritual. I only buy fitness equipment from yard sales and only from the morbidly obese. This way I know the equipment has endured rigorous testing, but hasn’t been used that much.
Mall walking is also a great workout. It’s a bit of a hike to the nearest mall but once you’re there the threats of bulldozers and gangs keep you moving! I like to interval train at Southlake Mall. I wind briskly through the aisles at Sears and emerge slowly, recovering my breath until I make the turn at Macy’s. At this point I’ll climb the stairs with great vigor and scoff at the temptress at Great American Cookies as I race past. On a couple of occasions I’ve encountered trouble at Kid’s Foot Locker and had to high-tail it back down the stairs to escape the teens with their newborns but this only adds to the workout. On the way out I’ll stop at Lids for a chat with manager and friend, Rye, a true modern day milliner.
By the time Spring rolls around I’ll be able to fit nicely into my plus fours for a round of golf.


Larry Thack is a longtime resident of Fayetteville but is residing in the Mom’s Attic of a Uhaul until they finish painting his kitchen.

06/06/2015
It’s been a tough week for old Thack.
First I got my index finger caught in the safety guard of a mandolin slicer. It didn’t hurt that much, but I use that finger a lot and it was debilitating to say the least. With half of my nail missing I had to use a civil war style dressing to stop the bleeding and I was unable to use that finger to make points, accuse people, type, summon children at the park, and train for the open position of PTC Police Chief. As difficult as all this was, I was more upset by the mob at the senior center who wanted me to see the doctor and “score” them some pain pills.
In the middle of my healing I cracked a tooth. Someone had left a ziploc bag in the fridge full of croutons. Very strange to see them outside of a commercially acquired box, but also an odd item to take home from a restaurant. I was fully ignored when I asked the other residents about the origin of the croutons and began munching away. The sea-salt had apparently been replaced by a sandy, seasoned gravel mixture and out popped a chunk of my prized teeth. Fortunately no pain with this malady either but the real pain was to come. According to someone posing as a friend, it was my tooth that was at fault. At just the humble, mere mention of the loss of a functional, permanent, and pulchritudilous part of my face I was met with eye-rolling and annoyance. Surely I had this coming! Perhaps I should just be quiet and take it! After all, the croutons were just God’s vehicle for humanity’s revenge.
Sitting on a park bench feeding the rats at Huddleston pond I tried to forget the difficulties of the week. As I kept my finger elevated and scratched at the hole in my tooth with my now injured tongue I spotted a group of teens all in a bunch crowding around something. I approached to see them all huddled around a girl who was sobbing over the iphone she had just dropped and cracked. In an effort to console the girl I commented, “no big deal. It’s just an iphone 4.” In a flash she grabbed my cane and beat me until I waded into the pond for safety. After a prolonged period of harassment she pitched the cane at me and left with her gang. My cane apparently does not float.
My finger has become infected by the pond waters. May the Lord soon take me into his house of mercy.

Larry Thack’s Firework stand will be open weekends through June in the Ingle’s parking lot

06/20/2015
It’s been another tough week for Old Thack. I seem to be getting feebler in my later years and injury keeps finding me.
Last Tuesday I was badly burned by the plate I was served at a Mexican restaurant. The server was insistent and dramatic as he implored me not to touch the plate. “Hot Plate! Hot Plate!” He chirped repeatedly as the plate brushed my earlobe and cheek before it was set halfway on the table. As I sat there watching the plate in this unacceptable and asymmetrical placing before me the server stood with his hands folded in prayer as he continued to beg me not to touch the plate. “Hot Plate! Hot Plate!” There was no way in hell I was going to sit there like an idiot waiting for this plate to cool down even though it was clear the server would remain there announcing the plate’s temperature as it safely cooled. Eventually he would start chanting “Warm Plate! Warm Plate!” and I should be able to move the plate to a comfortable spot. Not on Thack’s watch! As I centered the plate in front of me with only the tips of my fingernails the server’s eyes narrowed while his chirping continued, “Hot Plate! Hot Plate”. Clearly he had removed any regard for my safety as there was this tone in his voice daring me to fully handle the plate. In a flash I grasped the plate fully from fingers to palms and set it down lightly in front of me, centered just-so. My hands now fused to the plate by the intolerable heat I was unable to let out a “thank-you” and send him on his way. His monotonous warnings still continued as the plate had now ignited the napkins that were beneath it and the fire was spreading toward the cheese dip. With only my eighteen ounce margarita to douse the flames I instead attempted to blow out the fire which only fanned the flames. I was ultimately able to put out the fire with the eight pound leather-bound menu that also serves as a fire blanket. Thanks to the teens at the table next to me for that piece of advice! I rewarded them with a round of margaritas- with no salt of course- that kinda ruins it for me and I certainly don’t want to pass along any bad habits. Ice water is not recommended for burns of this depth but I was allowed to have my dinner companion fan my injured hands with the giant sombrero until it was required for a birthday event on the “siesta deck”.
I was feeling pretty good by Thursday and starting to get some feeling back in my hands when I went to a local orphanage with my Rotary club. Just as I was handing the oversized check we were donating, this little chinless nitwit swipes it out of my hands giving me a paper cut that required nineteen stitches.

Larry Thack will be resting this weekend at his Syrian timeshare