Brown Barf and Backfires

I got sick. Totally nauseated. The Kensley Flu struck me down hard. I tried to pretend it wasn't happening, held in "the squirts" for about six hours, but by then I couldn't pretend any longer, I let spill (no holes barred). Both sides fighting to be the first and constant releaser. Backfire, switch, forward guns! I had the worst case of brown barf imaginable. I hadn't really even eaten at all that day (this was Thursday), so Erica suggested that maybe the barf was coming up from my GI tract (in other words, backfiring diarrhea), which made me barf all the more. I bet you're wondering why I'm telling you this, as it is indeed a pretty disgusting story. I lived it, so I know. But, the point is that my sickness continued into Friday, thus forcing me to miss work, thus also allowing me some much needed time to make the promised updates. Four new portroids posted, plus ...

The winner of the "Portroids Proudly Presents ..." election has been posted. Finally posted. Follow this link to read all about it. Hear ye, hear ye!

The winner was interviewed, but as you will tell (and tell to all, I'm sure) after reading, the interview kind of backfired. It backfired like the time my cousin Jim Allen wanted to play a game, a word game (and I love me a word game), where he had me sing the old redneck song 'Old Dan Tucker' (you know the one - it's about this hillbilly who washes his face with a frying pan and combs his hair with a wagon wheel and somehow from this combination of events gets a tooth-ache in his heel) but, while singing, to exchange the first letter of every word with 'F'. If you have any sort of forward-looking instinct, you'll see from the title (Old Dan Tucker) his sinister plot. I, at age 9, had no such foresight. "Fold Fan Fucker fas fa fine fold fan," I sang obliviously. Oh, Jim Allen was in a stir and ran off to tell Grandma that her beloved little Ricky was a cussin' up a storm. If Admiral Ackbar was there, he would have alerted me, "It's a trap". Lucky for me, Grandma was no spring chicken and she knew the source of the game. She also knew her little Ricky was too sweet and innocent to blast off obscenities like so many womp-rats in Beggar's Canyon back home. Old Jim Allen got a thorough soaping of the mouth, his plan backfired. I felt sorry for Jim Allen. Always getting into trouble. "You'll never f***ing learn, will you, you little piece of sh**," I whispered to him, "You'll never f***ing learn."

He never f***ing learned.

Learnin' people lessons for 22 years,
Rick