C.R. terror

Mobility Forum, Sep/Oct 2001 by Rexwinkle, Ebby

C.R., noted Dispenser of Libations, pulled out all the stops for his Labor Day weekend - three days of parties, fun, and "Generalized" opportunities. Always striving to uphold his reputation, C.R. was certain his back yard "feast and suds" blast was sure to please even the brassiest!

"Oh Drats!" blurted the Illustrious One as he stumbled over a box he left lying in the floor after returning from the corner market. "Double drats!" he quipped when he realized the avocado and anchovy supreme chip dip dotted with poached raisins had been plopped on his best pair of emerald green pigskin flying gloves which he left lying on the kitchen chair.

"Oh well," chirped C.R., "The green matches quite well." C.R. paused for a moment then nodded his head to show agreement with himself and proceeded to scrape the dip back into the bowl. "They'll never know," he mumbled to himself as if there was a room full of people watching him scrape up what could easily be construed as avial residue.

"Okay," silently thought the Aviator with Avoirdupois. "All I have left to do is..." when he was suddenly startled by shouts from the living room.

"Hey, C.R.! Can you give me a hand with this?" as he rolled a shiny, cumbersome, keg of fermented spirits into C.R.'s living room.

"What are you doing, Sammy?" quacked C.R.

"I went and picked up the suds for the party... just like you asked me to," stammered the second half of the Dynamic Duo.

"Fantabulous!" exclaimed C.R. "I was beginning to develop a little thirst, and this is definitely the thirst quencher I was needing."

"Maybe you should wait until later," urged Sammy.

"What's it going to hurt to have a few short nips before the party?" argued C.R. as he grabbed the keg and began maneuvering it through the living room and out into the backyard.

"Maybe a lot!" exclaimed Sammy as he reminded his illustrious friend that some very important, heavy metal individuals were scheduled to be present tonight. "Remember who you have invited to this gig?"

"I remember!" smacked C.R. "I remember... I invited them!"

Sammy shook his head in disagreement while urging C.R. not to partake. "The party starts in less than three hours."

"I've got it all under control m'lad," quipped C.R. as he rolled the keg down the steps into the kitchen. "I've got to get this baby chilled down. The last thing I need is tepid brew," C.R. said as he dramatically wiped sweat from his brow and staggered jokingly around the room.

"Gadzooks!" yelled Sammy as he snickered, "You act like you've already filled your tank with some of that high-octane fuel!"

"Nope," C.R. answered with a quirky smile on his face, "But I intend to!"

"You're going to be sorry!" warned Sammy as he shook his head in disgust.

"Oh! Balderdash!" growled C.R. as he waddled to the kitchen to prepare the home-grown, cornfed, melt-in-your-mouth, sure-to-please-the-brass T-bone steaks for the party.

"You know... maybe you're right C.R. A little refreshment doesn't sound too bad after all, but I'm still going to wait," Sammy spouted several moments after he thought about a cool drink. He didn't want to down a few and then run into the long arm of the law on his way home. But as far as the Titan of Terror was concerned, his nerves were more than just a little bit frazzled. He was pulling out all the stops for this party - he had even invited General Lockjaw! C.R. knew everything had to be perfect, and he was running out of time, so he began to fortify his plan with liquid encouragement.

"Hey C.R." yelled Sammy from the patio where he was busy packing ice around the metallic sudsmaster. "What are you doin'?" he asked as he poked his head around the corner of the patio door.

"Sammy, m'boy, I am preparing 'Old Bessie' for a pathway to digestion heaven," C.R. blurted as he rubbed his rotundulous belly. "Yep, the General is just gonna love this!" quipped the Portly Pillar of Pilotdom as he grabbed another swig of liquid muster and vividly imagined the wealth of gratuity the General would heap upon him once he sampled his culinary wares.

"Whatever," Sammy chided as he walked through the patio doors into the kitchen. "Whatever ya think."

"Whhaaaa, yikes!" squawled the Rhinestone Flyboy as he caught a glimpse of the clock... which were now becoming clocks.. on the wall. By now the Worried Warrior was beginning to feel the effects after more than just a few rounds of potent, refined, lizard juice.

"Whoaaaaa... I still have to grab a shower and pick up Tassles. I'm running out of time." C.R. was panicked. He hurried to complete last minute preparations, trying not to envision the General's anger over eating cold steaks. "I'm never going to make it!" exclaimed C.R. as he grabbed another mug of mush and dashed to the bathroom to take a shower. "Catch ya later Sammy," C.R. yelled. "I have to go," as he crawled into the shower.

Sammy figured he might as well let himself out and grab a shower, too. After all... the King of Krust he was not!

Meanwhile C.R. had scrubbed the flab, buffed it and was almost finished styling the rug when the phone rang.