I go back to the room to write down my laundromat experience and for some inexplicable reason Miss Bubble Lips is pissed off so I go to the balcony with my notebook in hand to have a little peace and quiet. After awhile she comes out all apologetic and asked me what I'm doing; I tell her I'm writing down what just happened and she asked me to explain. "Why did you go to the laundromat to do your experiment and why did they throw you out?" "Well honey, I needed to find someplace with lots of water and laundromats certainly have a lot of water. I got thrown out because I didn't put in any clothes or detergent into the two machines and they thought I was somewhat nuts," was my succinct answer to her two-part question. She told me she could understand why they thought I was crazy. I don’t, do you?
As I was talking to her I was looking around at the buildings behind the Princess Copacabana Hotel trying to determine what the people were like living in the various apartments. She asked me what I was thinking about and I decided to tell her exactly what I was doing. "See that apartment on the fifth floor there and that other apartment on the ninth floor, the ones with the bars on the windows, well those people are fucking paranoid." "How do you know," was her sarcastic reply. "All the apartments on the second floor have bars on them and a few on the third floor have them too because they're low and somebody could climb up and get in them. You have to be fucking paranoid to think that some idiot is going to climb all the way to the ninth floor to get in," was my concise explanation. "All right what about that apartment," she said pointing to one that had a window box full of plants? “His wife left him.” “How do you know?” “Because all the plants are dead; men kill plants, women don't.” She couldn't argue with that explanation because she knew I was right. She was absolutely amazed at my innate ability to glean facts from just observing people and things, but thoroughly confounded by the fact that, at the same time, I completely miss the obvious. She probably thought I was guessing but who cares? This must have turned her on because she dragged me into the bedroom and gives me a DFMMK (deep French Muppet mouth kiss) then got frisky, very frisky. I remember thinking she’s acting strangely today, but I don’t want to mention it because I might not get fucked.
After we made love we got up and walked to Ipanema along the ocean. Down by the Fort, which was closed because it was Monday, there were a lot of fishermen repairing their nets and I was able to get some good pictures of Sugarloaf with them in the foreground. She saw a women selling cotton candy and asked me for R$0.70 to buy some. It was wrapped in a clear plastic similar to the thick plastic wrap that comes around flowers back in the states and taped to the wrap was a red balloon. Obviously, the cotton candy is meant for children. This balloon was going to eventually cost me a bundle. How you might ask, just read on. She removed the balloon and put it in my pocket and we walked over to the park on the far side of the Fort. We climbed all over the rocks in the park, had a couple of beers, bought a tee shirt and as we were leaving she turns to me and says, "Tomorrow is a special day." "What's so special about it," I asked and she told me that it was, "Mensa day."
Holy shit, I can't believe this high school graduate belongs to Mensa International, you know of that club for geniuses. I thought back to 20 years ago when I took the test to join, passed with flying colors and then went for an interview. It didn't go well at all as you might imagine, I was just being myself and I guess they only wanted pinheaded snobs in their chapter. As the interview was concluding they said that they were positive there was a scoring error on my test. How could this happen, these guys were fucking geniuses and weren’t supposed to make mistakes like normal people! Well, they said they were certain that someone in error had placed the digit "one" at the beginning of my score because they were all thoroughly convinced that I was not on their level. What the fucking are they saying; I’m a fucking moron or what? Those bastards held fast and I never got in; fuck them, I really didn't want to join in the first place. Fucking geniuses; who needs them!
Miss Bubble Lips shakes me to get my attention and then explains that Mensa day is when she starts to menstruate. How fucking special is that? So she’s not a fucking genius; I knew that. At least I'm glad she told me so I could fuck her as much as possible today before her period begins and, now that I think of it that explains why she’s acting so strangely—fucking PMS. I hate it when women are PMSing, you never know what to expect next or how they will react to any comment you make. They also become so fucking judgmental. Just to be on the safe side, I usually try to keep extra quiet so I don’t fuck up. You can imagine how hard that is for me.
We had lunch in Ipanema and the waiter wasn't even paying attention to me, only Miss Bubble Lips and her tits. Every time I asked for something he just smiled and went back to staring at her tits. As we were leaving he gave me a great big grin. He treated me like shit and because the tip is automatically added to your bill, I had no recourse so he gets away with it. It then dawned on me that I had uncovered a subtle nuance of the Brazilian culture that I’ll be glad to share with you. If they smile at you, you're going to get fucked somehow and in some manner, but if they grin at you that means you've just been fucked whether you know it or not. That little piece of information was going to come in very, very handy in the future.
We got into a cab and she reached into my pocket to get the balloon out so she could play with it. She blew it up, taking three deep breaths to get it completely expanded and then she grabs the end between two fingers and lets the air out making a farting sound. She points to me and holds up two fingers and says, "Twice while you sleep at night you make this noise." I know she's trying to fuck with my mind but this time she doesn't realize she's actually paid me a complement. I can't believe it, I've been sleeping with her for the past 10 nights and I only farted twice that must be a record. Usually, I fart loudly one or two times an hour while I'm sleeping!
She hands the balloon to me and asks me to blow up. Since I dive my lung capacity is pretty good and I completely inflated it with one medium breath. This pisses her off because she thinks that all the cigars I smoke should somehow have a deleterious affect on my ability to blow up the balloon. I hand the balloon back to her and because she’s pissed she tries to blow it up quickly. One puff, two puffs, three puffs, four-- Bang! The balloon explodes about 6 inches behind the driver's right ear, he ducks thinking someone's shooting at us, the taxi swerves to the left, jumps the curb and comes to a halt about 25 feet down the sidewalk. The left front tire is shredded and the wheel is bent, both are totally ruined. She starts giggling hysterically and the driver turns around and looks at me like this is my last day on earth. Oh shit! The fare is onlyR$5.40 but I give him two R$50 notes and two slightly melted R$10 notes in a futile attempt to placate him.
Bubble Lips grabbed my hand and as we ran down the sidewalk she said to me, "you wear off on me." What the fuck did that mean? Yeah, I've been fucking her for 10 days, I hope something would rub off, but what was she getting at? When we got to the room all she did was giggle like the queers on the beach. "Stop laughing and talk to me," I told her. A few minutes later she managed to settle down and said, "I guess they will have to call me Marge from now on." "Who the fuck is Marge?" "Homer's wife, you idiot," was her curt response. "Except were not Japanese," she continued. "Say what," I said thoroughly confused. "I'm black and you're white, The Simpson’s are yellow like Japanese," she said thoughtfully. Why correct her? Then I thought that since all the animation is done in Korea, maybe the yellow skin is some perverse sinister subtlety perpetrated by the Korean animators that I have somehow completely overlooked. Perhaps, she is a genius after all! Regardless, I was really pissed because for most of the vacation I was under the false impression that she thought I was a literary great not a fucking cartoon character.
Since she’s still frisky I decide to get her to let me take some photos on my cell phone. Remember, Sammy Yuri taught me how and, if I can only remember what I need to do, I’ll have her body forever in my phone. It took me about fifteen minutes to get the first shot and she was beginning to get into it. Boy, this is fun! I picked out the best one and made it the background on my phone. All I have to do is make sure that Princess never sees it! You guys don’t have any faith in me: I just won’t let her use my phone. Simple solution, isn’t it? How can I possibly fuck up?
It's pouring outside so we take a nap after satisfying our carnal lust. You know what I absolutely love about Brazilian women? It's their tremendous desire to give you love and affection regardless of the circumstances. For instance, remember the first morning he woke up next to a special woman back in the states, you leaned over and started kissing her passionately and she kissed you back and then before you knew it you were fucking. Now scroll ahead two weeks and try the same thing, she immediately says, "Ah, I have to brush my teeth first." Before you know it you're brushing your teeth too and the mood has quickly passed. On the other hand, Brazilian women will give you an enormous kiss in the morning regardless of what you smell like. Don’t get me wrong, they do it only to please you because they are typically very hygienic but also extremely spontaneous at the same time.
The ability to give unconditionally is what I find so attractive. Let's go back to my previous example for a moment and I tell you about a personal experience that illustrates this point. I remember after I was married for about six months and I asked my wife to take care of me she asked, "How?" I told her I wanted nothing more than a simple BJ. She hissed at me saying, "You want me to put that thing in my mouth?" "Sure, you used to when we were dating," was my honest reply. Then she said something that practically every woman says at one time or another in her life fully knowing that she's lying while she's saying it, "I never did that!" What the fuck was she talking about; I married her because she was one of the few girls back in the late sixties who would please me that way. Now, I was really fucked
God, I must've been dating her identical twin sister because I knew I used to get hummers from someone who looked exactly like her before we were married. Over a period of months things deteriorated to the point that I could only kiss her on the mouth nowhere else on her body. I'm not saying that Brazilian girls won't pull the same stunts on you but from what I've seen they are so eager to please you in any way possible that I don't think that type of behavior is in their nature. For example after being with Miss Bubble Lips for 10 glorious days she still treats me like it's our first night together. If I say that I wanted her to kiss her someplace special she says, "Let me grab my ankles first." That's what I call real service and that type of attitude is what keeps me going back so often. These women are a true pleasure to be with.
We get dressed and go to a barbecue place for dinner. Miss Bubble Lips is cold so I let her wear my blazer. Hopefully, I'll be able to post a few shots for you to get a looking at her in it. Okay, we arrive at the restaurant and immediately start the fuck up the place. Before you know it we have a bottle of wine opened, two glasses poured and four guys standing around looking at her tits. Within moments a guy comes around with what looks like cooked stuffed olives on a long skewer. I take three and put one in my mouth. It didn't taste like an olive and is quite chewy. I eat the remaining two and she asks me if I like them. "They're not the best olives I've ever had," was about all I could say. "Olives? They're not olives their chicken hearts, she told me fully expecting to get some shocked expressions out of me. After that bull penis incident I figured I could eat anything and I was right. Chicken hearts are nothing compared to a bull’s dick!
Blazer
Her lovely lips
Before you know it we have the wine taster by our table plus six waiters each with a skewer all watching her tits. Sometimes to get the attention of one of them I'd have to tug on his white jacket and they would usually give me a surprised look then offer me some meat. Miss Bubble Lip’s wine glass is always full while mine is usually left empty, but what the hell, I don't blame them for looking. One waiter comes over with some white meat on a skewer and I asked if it is pork. Miss Bubble Lips tells me that it's chicken but it looks awfully big to be a chicken breast. I took two pieces anyway and after I’ve eaten the first piece Miss Bubble Lips suddenly says, "Gobble, gobble." I looked directly at her and said, "Look Miss Muppet Mouth you don't need to insult me just because the skin on my neck is sagging and looks like a turkey." She gets the most confused look on her face then again says, "Gobble, gobble." Now I'm really pissed but then she starts to put her thumbs in her armpits and moved her arms up and down like a chicken. What the fuck is she up to, I wondered? "Gobble, gobble, chickens say this," was all she could manage to say in her confused state. I then realized that what she was trying to tell me was that what I was eating was turkey, not chicken. She asked me what Miss Muppet Mouth meant and I told her that it really was an affectionate term used back in the United States. Whew!
After dinner we go back to the hotel and change our clothes for our last night in Help.
When we reached Terraco we see Evil Twin and we join him for drinks. He begins to give me a raft of shit about not learning the language and I tell him that I have a somewhat foolproof method for expanding my linguistic skills. He diligently listens to Pimsleur and I admire him for it but as you already know, it puts me to sleep. After my last trip Honey Bee sent me his Rosetta Stone program in an ill-fated attempt to educate me. That fucking program is so hard because nothing is in English -- it's all in Portuguese. Why in God’s name would anyone buy a program that’s completely in Portuguese, especially if they didn’t know one word of the language? Honey Bee must be fucking nuts!
I read the cover of the program and they call it immersion learning, which I think means sinking because I can tell you that it sunk me fast. I also found out that the freaking program is apparently rigged. They put up four pictures on the computer screen and say the God damn word in Portuguese and you move the cursor to a picture and click. If you’re right it gives you a green checkmark, wrong and you get a red X. After working with the program for hours I found that it always gives me the checkmark on the third or fourth try. Now, after explaining to you how it works, you have to agree that it seems rigged, don’t you? Honey Bee used to call me to find out how I was progressing with the program, but every time he called I would curse at him and tell him what a fucked up program it is. He hasn’t called since I sent the disks back to him. We communicate exclusively through email now.
Where was I? Oh yeah, explaining my foolproof method for learning Portuguese to Evil Twin. I do it the old-fashioned way, I watch TV to pick up words. Since I have an extensive background in Latin and because Portuguese is a derivative language I can easily figure out what the words mean in written form. Unfortunately, since I don't multitask very well I have a tendency to only listen to the English and not completely read the subtitles; consequently I don’t learn as much as I could. One day I was watching a Japanese Sci-Fi movie dubbed into English, turned the sound way down but that only fucked me up even more. Why you might ask, well I had a grandmother who was totally deaf and she taught me how to lip read and would test me often. Consequently, I have this terrible tendency to lip read a lot and everyone’s’ lips in this movie moved in the strangest ways. Absolutely nothing made sense in that flick. Then I hit upon the perfect solution and I'll tell you all about it.
There was this French movie on TV and I read all the subtitles and believe it or not I could understand the whole thing. When I told Evil Twin about this he said, "I didn't know you speak French?" "I don't and because I don't understand a word of the movie it doesn't fuck me up," I replied. He then gave me the same look my neighbor did and we're talking about DSL's and then he said four little words, "hit the mute button." That obvious solution had entirely escaped me; I had come close with that Japanese movie, but for some reason hadn’t thought it through completely. Oh shit, I was surrounded by fucking geniuses.
It's Tuesday morning and I'm up at 6:30 a.m. and it's nice and sunny. Fernando said it was that it would start to rain at 8 a.m. and I fully expect to give him some shit about his lousy forecast. Miss Bubble Lips wakes up around seven and is horny as hell; this is the only good side to her PMS -- otherwise she's an emotional nightmare. I just hope her period comes because one night we had a little accident. I won't go into the details but let's just say I was praying for her period to arrive soon and relieve my anxiety. Fucking Brazilian rubbers! Maybe the PMS isn't so bad after all; it is a leading indicator of what's to come, isn't it?
It's now 8 a.m. and not a cloud in the sky and just about ready to walk to the beach to find Fernando when all of a sudden I hear thunder. Within minutes it's pouring and now I want to find Fernando for another reason. I don't know about you but our weather forecasters around here are right only about 45% of the time and when the wrong, they're really wrong. For example they'll tell you it's going to rain for the next three days and be sunny all weekend. What do we wind up with? Three days glorious sunny days and a rainy weekend. Imagine the fortune somebody with Fernando's accuracy could make up here! I walk to the beach in the rain to find him but he’s nowhere to be seen. It seems he's a lot smarter than I am because he's decided to stay indoors during a rainstorm and I’m on the fucking beach getting soaking wet. Then I think that maybe those Mensa people were right about that test score after all. Do I act like I have a double-digit IQ? Don’t answer that question.
I walked into the hotel room soaking wet only to find that Miss Bubble Lips PMS is acting up again so I call room service to have breakfast sent up. She really doesn't need to eat anymore because she's already gained 3 kg eating every fillet in Copacabana. Now she's complaining about excess water weight to add to my misery. Because it's still raining outside we decide to lounge around and make love the last few times we can and then I figure it's about time for me to settle up with her. I reminded her that I sent her money last month and just gave her $200 last week to pay her rent and then I handed her a bunch of Ben Franklin's. She burst out into tears and grabs the bedspread to wipe her eyes. "Don't use that it's dirty," was my late warning to her as she dabs both eyes with the petri dish like bedspread. Oh well, at least she didn't put her in her mouth like she did the last time.
She was continuing to cry so I started throwing down more hundred dollar bills in an effort to get her to stop. I was just praying she stopped crying before I ran out of bills. Finally she calmed down and told me how generous I was and that's when I asked her why she was crying. "Because you're so good to me and I love you so much. When I saw the all money I was so happy," she said. "You mean when I first gave you the bills you were happy with the amount I gave you; I didn't need to give you any more?" "Si," was all she said. "In that case could I have back the other $300 I gave you?" She said only one word, "Nao." Maybe I am a little like that other Homer after all!
In an ill-fated effort to ease my bruised ego I decided to call my neighbor, you know the crazy shrink, to find out whether or not my house was still standing. He answered the phone on the second ring and as soon as he recognized my voice he immediately said, “James, your vacation is very therapeutic and, by the way, have you cut yourself?” What the fuck was he talking about? I hadn’t even told him one thing about my trip and I pressed him for an explanation on this issue just like he does to all his nutty patients. The bastard finally cracked and said the following almost word for word: “Actually, I was talking about all the neighbors, having you gone is terribly refreshing for all of us. By any chance are you extending your stay?” “No you bastard, I’ll be home tomorrow! “Oh by the way Doc, I didn’t cut myself, but thanks for your concern,” I said in an enigmatic attempt to portray myself as an accomplished knife handler. “Did you spray the Curad on the wound,” he asked. “Yes and it helped,” I quickly replied. God damn it! Why did he have to trick me like that?
It’s around 2:30 p.m. and Miss Bubble Lips informs me that she’s hungry again. That’s not a good sign I think; aren’t pregnant women always hungry? Oh Special Day, please come quickly! Where was I, yeah talking about lunch. She decides she wants to go for Middle Eastern food so we hop in a taxi and go to a place on Atlantico Ave called The Arab restaurant, which is located about two blocks from the Copacabana Palace. The reason she chose this place is simple, she loves Arabic food, they have an extensive buffet with about 50 delicacies and you pay according to the weight of your meal just like in Kilogram.
When I see her load up her plate I’m starting to get convinced that she’s eating for two, if you know what I mean. “Oh God, please don’t let me fuck up that badly,” I silently pray. Then I think that He probably doesn’t answer prayers with the word “fuck” in them so I quickly say another prayer that’s sure to fix my use of offensive language. “God, please forget that I used the word “fuck” in my first prayer, won’t you.” Now that I repaired that mistake, I can concentrate on my delicious food. About halfway through her meal Miss Bubble Lips excuses herself and goes to the restroom. I’m hoping for good news when she returns but she just gives me a blank stare. I finally break the ice and ask, “Has Special Day arrived?” “Nao” Oh shit!
As she finishes her meal I order coffee and she unexpectedly gets up and goes back to the buffet for another plate full of food. This is not looking good because it’s now around 3:00 p.m. and she’s eaten about 3 pounds of food already. Maybe she’s eating for three or four? While she’s eating her second plate of food she tells me that multiple births run in her family. Oh fuck! I remember thinking that today can’t possibly get any worse, but like always I was way off the mark. As she finishes her second plate I excuse myself to go to the restroom. I figure why chance fucking up another lavatory on the plane so I sit down to relieve myself. I know what you guys are thinking, not another toilet story. Well, just hold on. When I’m done I grab the toilet paper, which is in one of those two roll dispensers. You know the type where there’s another roll hidden above the exposed one and when the first one is used up the other one slides down in its place.
The paper’s unusually soft so I grab a few handfuls and do what I have to do. The last time I grabbed it I noticed that I was actually grabbing paper from both rolls, that’s why it felt so soft. Simply put, I was inadvertently using both rolls at the same time or in other words, the equivalent of two-ply toilet paper. Those of you who have been to Brazil are aware of the fact that their toilets are not the most efficient in the world and are rather prone to getting clogged especially with just single-ply toilet paper. How will it ever manage to handle all that paper you might ask? Do you have a clear understanding of what’s going to happen next? You’re right, I flush and everything comes up rather than going down. I jiggle the handle and it comes off in my hand; the water continues to fill up the bowl and then it starts to overflow. Since things like this have happened to me before I knew not to panic and reached around behind the toilet to turn off the water valve. No fucking valve anywhere, then I panicked!
As water is running down the sides of the toilet I’m thankful for the ubiquitous floor drain but then I notice an unexpected problem. The drain’s about six feet from the toilet, however, right in front of the bowl is an access panel to get into the basement where all their supplies are most likely stored. The panel is about 2x3 feet and everything is pouring down the crack around the panel. Not one bit of water will ever make it anywhere near the drain. Pretty poor planning on the architect’s part, I remember thinking as I rushed back to Miss Bubble Lips.
When I sat down she immediately said to me, “What did you do wrong in there?” “Nothing Honey, but let’s get out of here,” was my swift and evasive reply. “You did something wrong, now tell me!” I hate it when she knows exactly each and every time I fuck up; then she treats me like I’m a child. I quickly give her a thumbnail sketch of what’s going on in the bathroom as we speak and she promptly gets up from the table and asks the waiter for our check. I leave him R$30 to cover a R$27 bill so we don’t have to wait for change. As we’re walking out of the place she asks me, “Can I ever go in there again?” “No,” was my one word answer. The only way I could possibly put a positive spin on this incident was if Osama bin Laden and a bunch of al-Qaeda operatives were sitting in the basement under the access panel, but I think that’s highly unlikely.
She rode with me to the airport and I smoked my last cigar in the way out there. I smoked 50 cigars and two of those fucking God awful Brazilian lighters by the time the trip was over. Since I made that promise to myself on the last trip that I would always have a lit cigar in my hand to use as a weapon, I went through a lot of them each day. Cigars proved to be a far more effective weapon than that fucking SOG knife I carried around everyday; the only person that thing hurt was me. When we get to the airport I get in line and she waits off to the side then they tell me that I been targeted by the TSA to have a complete search. I'm directed into a little room with some old lady who opens everything and I mean everything. For some strange reason she even makes me take the battery out of my electric toothbrush. She grabs my camera and starts to go through the pictures but I fooled her by taking shots of Miss Bubble Lips outside the airport then she throws me a curve and hands the camera to me with a crotch shot of Miss Bubble Lips on the LCD. Rather than scrolling backwards through the pictures she went forward and found all the interesting shots. "Bonita," was thankfully all she said.
After about 15 minutes they let me go and I hugged and kissed Miss Bubble Lips goodbye. We promised to keep in touch and then she said those three dreaded words, "I love you." "I love you too, Honey," was all I could say as she gave me a long wet DFMMK goodbye. As she was walking away she turned and gave me a great big smile and then turned away with tears in her eyes. I remember thinking; perhaps, she really does love me. I watched her closely as she was walking away thinking, don't do it Honey, oh no, please don't do it to me, no baby don’t, but I was too late. She turned around with tears still in her eyes and looked at me with a huge grin on her face and started dialing her cell phone as she turned and walked out the door. Oh well, that's what's Rio's all about isn't it.
Can anyone figure out what Miss Bubble Lips is trying to tell me?
Nobody sits next to me on the flight to Sao Paulo and I hope that not too many people get on because it would be nice to lounge in two seats all the way back to Houston. Unfortunately, just as they were closing the doors to the plane a pretty dark-haired girl about 25 to 30 years old rushes onto the plane and approaches my row. She standing in the aisle and I’m pretending not to notice her, but she tells me that the window seat is hers. Oh fuck! She squeezes past me and plops into her seat and gives me a look that I know is going to result in the hearing those three dreaded words on an airplane so I have to think quickly.
How do I get rid of her? Think quickly brain, wake the fuck up! It wouldn't wake up so I was on my own and I had to devise some plan to get rid of her fast. I can't fart, that'll affect too many people around me so how the fuck do I isolate this bitch and force her to move? She looks at me with those beautiful brown eyes and tries to start a conversation and then my brain wakes up. It says only one word, "camera." Holy shit, what a great idea my body thinks. I grabbed the camera case as she makes herself as comfortable as possible then asked her if she wants to see some beautiful shots of Rio. "I’d enjoy that," she says in perfect English. Bet you will, I think quietly to myself as I turn on the camera and get a magnificent shot of Sugarloaf on the LCD. "It’s beautiful," she says as I start to scroll through more shots.
Suddenly she gets a horrified look on her face as a graphic shot of Miss Bubble Lips crotch comes on the screen. "Oops, you weren't supposed to see that picture or that one and I don’t think you should see that one either or that one," I say as I scroll through four more fantastic shots. She's practically screaming at me as I'm proudly displaying a few more artful poses. That did it! She says, "excuse me," and presses the flight attendant button. The flight attendant arrives, she says something to her in Portuguese and then she gets up and squeezes past me. Good riddance is all I can think as she turns towards me and gives me a thoroughly disgusting look. As she standing there with the flight attendant she utters those three dreaded words you hate to hear on an airplane, "seatbelt extension, please." I was one lucky hombre!
My son greets me at the airport and he's not too pleased to see me. Why, you might ask, just read on. Every time I called him from Brazil to ask him how things were going back home he always had a one-word answer to each and every question. "Have you watered all the plants?" "Yup." “Have you checked the chemicals in the pool?" "Yup." "Have you cleaned the pool like I asked?" "Yup." "Is the refrigerator well-stocked not empty like the last time?" "Yup." You know where this is going, don't you?
Every parent knows that when you get a quick affirmative answer from your child that reality is actually 180° from their answer. He was unusually chatty on the trip home because he realized that he had only one hour of the illusion left and he was going to make the best of it. As we pulled in the driveway I noticed the flowers in front were still in bloom and that was a good sign. The houseplants were another story. Let's just say they took some major casualties because he somehow forgot to water them. In fact, he never watered a fucking plant as I was to later learn. The outside flowers were luckily watered naturally by the frequent rains we had while I was gone, consequently, they survived relatively unscathed.
The pool was another story completely. When I went out back it looked like someone had dumped a 55 gallon barrel of Miracle Grow in it. It was a bright green and when I tested the chemicals they were off the chart. "How could you let this happen," I asked? "Well dad, I checked the chemicals and needed to raise the pH but I added the wrong chemical and actually lowered it more. Then I forgot to correct it," was his stunningly simple explanation of this disaster. He must take after his mother, I thought to myself certainly not me. God, I've seen cleaner Bayou's in Louisiana than what's in my backyard. Regardless of his errors and omissions, I love him and it was good to be home.
I should end here and leave you all pondering that question about my computer, but I won't do that to you. Here's what I found out. He tried 296 times to hack into the program and suddenly stopped about a week before I left. Why, I wondered? To find the answer I dug around my computer files and found out that the same day he stopped hacking a little program was installed on my computer called "Password Cracker." Upon digging a little deeper I found that he's been accessing the files daily ever since the program was installed. Oh fuck, guess I'll have to change my password from "OpenSesame" to something a little more difficult to crack.
This has presented me with a terrible dilemma. If I let him know that I found out he's been in my files, he will always use it against me. For example, let's just say he does something stupid soon (you can bet on that) and, if I yell at him he'll just throw in my face all those photos and God damn reports. You can appreciate the position I'm in, can't you? Guess it will have to be our little secret, you know one of those unspoken secrets you never ever talk about. There is a plus to this whole thing; he now looks at me with an extra little twinkle in his eyes that was never there before.
When I was trying to figure out how to finish this report I asked my daughter what would be the best way to end it. Of course, I didn’t tell her what the report was about, I’m not that stupid. She said, "Why don’t you use an epilogue Daddy." "You mean that thing you gave me last Christmas?" "No daddy, that's an Epitrim, you know that little wand like thing that’s used to clip the hair in your nose and ears! I mean an epilogue, sort of a nice way to end a story," she told me in her knowing collegiate way. I just hate it when your kids treat you like a dummy, don't you?
Epilogue
First of all, I have to thank Sandman for all his tremendous encouragement and support during my numerous trips to Rio. Without his unflagging efforts I never would have put a single word down on paper. For example, when I told him about Lurch saying Buddha and me answering Presbyterian, he told me what she really meant by it and suggested I put it in a report. When I showed him the umbrella I purchased twice, he damned near coughed himself to death and again suggested it was great material for a report. I told him that I was somewhat reluctant to write about my experiences because there was really no way I could put a positive spin on them. Simply put, I looked like a foolish dummy. He told me that the guys on the board would appreciate my candor and often make the same mistakes, but usually don't write about them in their reports. From the posted threads and e-mails I've received after posting A Dummy in Rio, I found out that I have a lot of company in my stumbling ways. It’s very gratifying knowing you’re not alone. Once again, many thanks Sandman.
I would also like to thank Felix for his enormous support and willingness to take all the abuse I dished out to him. You guys need to thank him for providing me with some invaluable and entertaining material that I included in this report. He's a great guy and, if you ever meet him, tell him that Jag sends his best. Without his constant nagging I never would have posted Part One so soon and for that I'm forever grateful. Once Part One was up, he started giving me shit about Part Two and so on. God bless his little asthmatic heart.
Evil Twin and Travelsrr are great friends and I hope they don't mind me including our conversations in this report. I’m still pissed at Evil Twin for taking my beach chair, but I guess I should be thankful he didn’t take Miss Bubble Lips too. As I put this report to rest I just want you to know I'm making reservations to go back to Rio in about two weeks to get some more material and deal with a pending rather delicate personal matter.
