Blondie Gets a Wardrobe Makeover...

Well folks... I'll have ya'll know that the radio dial in my fully depreciated car is more often than not set to Gator Country not that I expected any of you fine folks to give a rat's ass one way or another.

And yes... I did indeed say Gator Country, as in country music on your FM dial broadcasting all throughout Southwest Florida. And not 'fer nuttin' do they call it Gator Country, 'cause if 'da truth be known, Southwest Florida has been run amok by menacing alligators for some time now.

In fact, my lady-friend tells me of the time when she mindlessly stepped outside early one morning to retrieve the newspaper only to then inadvertently step upon a gator's tail who happened to be casually snoozing on her front porch. It also goes without saying that this little incident did indeed scare the crap out of her. Or so she claims anyways...

Nevertheless I do suppose that it could have been a far worse experience for her that morning 'cause it just as easily could have been a Jehova's Witness knocking on her door while eagerly awaiting to pounce upon her with a load of religious crap before she'd even had her first cup of coffee. But I suppose that you already done knew that.

In any event there are indeed lurking alligators all throughout Southwest Florida stealthily lying in wait to make a meal out of sum' unsuspecting poochie-dog or even a distracted fellow for that matter. So yeah, gators can be routinely spotted all throughout this part of Florida.

In fact, I'd even say that the only thing out numbering all 'dem mofo gators are all the ol' farts from up north shufflin' along from one food buffet line to another.

Yippers... it's that time of the year and it's what's called "High Season" here in Southwest Florida. And I can assure you all that it is an annual event somewhat akin to having an infestation of locusts suddenly descend from out of the sky not that I've ever had the misfortune to experience such an event.

And trust me on this one feller sailers'... 'der ain't nuttin' more aggravating than to get behind the wheel of 'sum ol' geezer pokin' along the highway in an over sized, fuddie-duddie Town Car... especially one still sportin' a Romney-Ryan bumper sticker.

Nevertheless having said all that, I do kindly ask 'dat ya'll don't go a-tellin' anyone 'dat I do indeed tune in for a little country music from time to time while driving 'cause country music 'jest ain't all 'dat cool with the many young and not so young, hot latina ladies residing throughout Florida.

Oh... I almost forgots' to tell ya'll.... Blondie-Dog now gots' herself a brandy-new sacrificial on her jib and a new mainsail cover to boot. Yippers... Blondie now looks like she belongs amongst all 'dem other fine lookin' boats here at the Calusa Island Marina.

S/V Blondie-Dog Settles Into Her New Diggs...

Yippers! Dat indeedy be S/V Blondie-Dog now tied up in her new diggs. And I's also gots to tells ya dat she now be a most happy camper cause she now no longer be out at anchor all day by her lonesums' and dat she also now be most content to be among da likes of her own kind.

In facts, I is quites sure dat if all dem 'udder boats tied up at dat same marina were to somehows be poochie-dogs, 'den fer sure 'deyed all be a 'gettin' down right acquainted wit' one another and a studiously sniffin' one anothers' rear-ends by now.

'Cause dat what poochie-dogs do whens 'dey wants to git' to knows one another not dat ya needed my sorry ass to enlighten ya 'bouts sumptin' dat ya already done knows.

Anywho's dis here boat dock be at a fine, upscale marina located out among da mangroves wheres gators have been known to lurk beneath da docks in hopes of making a meal out of some unsuspectin', incautious, snockerd' sailor.

And I also be glads to tells ya 'dat it be a good thing 'dat I no longers be but a vagrant-on-a-boat and a drinkin' me-self silly every  night and sumhows' be a riskin' dat I becomes but a big pile of gator poop come morning time.

Yep, dis here marina be located in da fine respectable community of Goodland... and it be a fine drinkin' community wit' but a small fishing problem and wheres' but a measly can-opener is all ya needs to breaks into yor neighbors' trailer park home.

Yippers... Blondie-Dog be a happy camper now!














Blondie-Dog... woof! sniff, sniff, sniff.