As a virgin to this forum, or any forum for that matter, I was overwhelmed at the response to my first post. The cascade of smiley icons (and the deviants thereof) were like taking a Sunday stroll through the Wal-Mart, after the little caped Zorro has slashed prices. I enjoyed them all, the positive and the negative, and even the most visceral comments in the private message section. I was informed, privately, that no A/S ever "dies", everything is salvaged and that 90% of all aluminum is recycled for use in the beverage industry. I, for one, however, find little solace in the knowledge that a container in my hand was once an integral part of the auxilary holding tank in a 1967
I have two confessions. First, I am not, I repeat, not a real doctor. Dr. C. is only a fictitious screen name, a form of electronic anonimity. I have aspired to be Dr. Pepper, Dr. Scholl, Dr. J., Dr. Dre, Dr. Phil, and the rug doctor, but thwarted by the absence of actual talent.....I can't quench thirst, soothe aching feet, slam dunk, rap, clean carpets, or soothe the socially ravaged by asking, "and how is that working for you ?", I was forced into a day job.
Second, even prior to my first post ( is there a silly grinned smiley with an embarrassed red face ?), I was considering naming my trailer. I admit it, and now feel much better. Narrowed down to four choices, they are as follows.
No. 4. The Udder House. Here's the schtick. Engage a surgeon, skilled in aluminum fabrication, to perform a mammoplastic augmentation, often referred to as a breast enhancement, but most commonly known in vulgar street slang ....(alert, alert, this is a family forum with respectful rules), so I'm not allowed to tell you that it rhymes with Tube Mob. This procedure would manifest itself in the form of a double slide-out, located slightly fore cabin in a, say, 84 inch, quadruple G size, then an exterior treatment in a camoflauge of Gateway guernsey. O.k., o.k., so it's a groaner. But admit it, isn't the design concept somewhat intriguing ?
No. 3. Another private message suggested in rather strong language that I might be an effete, erudite elitist, whatever those words mean. I assumed it to be uncomplimentary, accompanied by worrisome side effects. She was particulary incensed by the reference to 'little whores', and at this juncture I would like to apologize for being offensive. I'm truly sorry. I wish I could take it back. The remark was directed only at the trailers and did not imply that the owners might be guilty of any irresponsible social or legal behavior. Her suggestion....The Slut Hut. Pretty catchy. My loyal wife, with a barely audible sigh, eyes rolling reverently skyward, ageed..."only if you want to spend the rest of your life alone". Still, I liked it.
No 2. Rocinante. After the legendary steed of Cervantes' Don Quixote and made even more popular by Americas' greatest novelist, John Steinbeck, in his travels with Charley. Both forum contributors, the Navigator, and maxandgeorgia have a finger on this literary pulse. But Steinbeck and his one-eared large poodle were campers, real campers. My two elderly dogs, WrongWay and ReWind, both the result of generations of hasty, unplanned dog sex and their owner have some class, all third, so we'll never be in the league of John, Charley, and Rocinante the truck camper. Besides, it would border on plagiarism, an ugly word in the dictionary, somewhere between pitiful and puke. There are other crimes I'd rather commit.
No. 1. Speaking of crimes, it seems apparent that Elvis is not going to resurface anytime soon. Coupled with the reality that we're no longer welcome in Memphis, in re, a permanent injunction, in spite of the fact that the trumped-up, phony felony indictment (which was later overturned in an appeals court) never led to a conviction.....led us to No. 1.......
So that's it. Help me out on this, because most of the good names have already been taken. And if you respond, please be both kind and patient, because where I'm being held now, they only allow one phone call out a week. In the interim, I'm still working on the definition of "is", while enjoying a can of cold Coors Light, which I might say, tastes curiously like.