Friday, 2:52 pm, July 13, 2012


McCail is a Macgyver type and could probably use a box of toothpicks to jack-up a car.

But, when his character gene pool was filled or created no lifeguards or inspectors were nearby, and if there were, they banded together and added espresso coffee beans, gunpowder, Jell-o and lots and lots of cactus, just for fun. Basically put, he can get into more trouble than a monkey driving a car.

His wife Ann, compares him with Chief Inspector Clouseau, James Bond, Tarzan and Cheetah, Mr Bean, and when romance is in the air, he speaks like Edward de Vere, {the real Shakespeare}.


It's another sizzler in jolly-old fog-filled England and the heat of the sun's rays has been working hard on the chewing gum which McCail now stands atop. It's just not any gum mind you. It comes from the mouth of a girl named Jasmine, whose birthday is today, she's nineteen, and she's a chewing gum ruffian or yob, as they are called here in England.

"Shit!"

Placing his backpack in front of him provides privacy so he might hopefully extract the gum, which seems to have made a permanent home on the underside of his right sandal, without looking like a fool.

"Oh boy, some vacation. One to remember I'm sure. Shit. What else is this country going to dish out? I hate this place!"

He plops down on a small wall like a child benched at recess, and decides to first make a list of things he loves, hates, or finds intriguing on his wonderful vacation so far to England, before attempting surgery on his sick shoe.

He is a list and notes man and makes one everyday. Ann, his wife, is shopping across town and she's the one who suggested he, 'start making lists, otherwise nothing gets done,' and so he begins 'listing,' as he calls it.

He thought of that term because if he didn't keep a list, he figured his boat would 'list' and sink. He and Ann are also boat people and have a twenty-six foot cruiser back in Ventura, California.

He works worldwide as a marine biologist and is the go to man whenever there is a problem. She was a research librarian at Xerox, but now works with her husband, McCail, as his gal Friday. Which by the way is what he calls her at times, especially when romance is in the air or the lawn needs mowing. She calls him Mac, Mister, or Mr Fix It.

Each evening Mac sat at his desk and tried to answer some of the questions from his list or comments he'd made throughout his daily travels, answering those he could on the spot. What he couldn't answer he carries over till the next day or he trashes it.

And so he begins 'listing:

1. Love my new Gallery 3 phone. Answer... Smart-me.

2. Left home for this muggy crap? Why? Answer... Ann.

3. Fourteen-hour flight to hell on a flying bucket of bolts. Why? Answer... Ann.

4. Had my butt explored by a spelunker type customs guy. Jerk! Answer... England… Ann

5. Got lucky/not, and hired a cab-driver from Mars, who floats,
{as in lifts off the ground} and he ended up riding with us in the back.
Answer... WTF?

6. A taxi-cab drove 'itself across town.' Itself? How? What the fuck was that? Answer...
Who gives a shit cause it is way beyond stupid.
Cannot be answered, Period!

7. How did I rent a 1938 Bugatti for eighteen-bucks a day? Answer... Mistake.  Conclusion... Ann.

8. Bought a peanut butter sandwich. Only Cost me ten-bucks! Answer... Cheap blimey bastards, and England.

9. Hemorrhoid medicine.

10. Ann puts up with me, why? Answer?

11. Buy t-shirt for Ann.

12. Pick up aspirin.

13. Wash my shoes tonight.

14. Eat at Elgato. {Great food}.

15. Get directions from the innkeeper, that old bat ant jenny.

16. Get snacks for the long and boring road trip.

17. Trim my toenails.


Tired of listing, McCail begins the surgery.

It appears to him that whoever chewed this must chew cud as well, and has a mouth the size of Alaska.

Twice the size of a golf ball and green in color' one would think this would have been easy to spot, but as McCail becomes aware of his new environment he notices that locals instinctively walk around this area or like skilled experts hopscotch their way across this minefield of sticky colors like John Travolta, when he could move and dance. He also notices this may not be the best area in town to hang around.

The sturdy twig he finds as an extraction tool ends up looking like a glass-blowers first-attempt at shaping a green lamp. Digging away at its root and sticky foundation seems to go on forever, but he sighs when done and tosses the stick in a nearby barrel.

Looking around gives him his first view of Jasmine.

"Ouch-e-momma. You gotta be shitting me. Alright! Now, this is what I call a vacation. Yes!"

He grabs his Samsung, zooms in and snaps, "momma," snap, "momma mia," snap, "England at its breast," snap, snap, snap, splat as a pigeon unloads breakfast two-feet from him. "Swine bird. Missed me fucker."

Adding a spoken text to his list:

18. I love England.... Answer... It's the breast!


Jasmine's ears, nose and eyebrows are pierced and she likes to chew gum!

She does it to pass the time but, like most professional chewers 'when it's lost its flavor, it's a labor.' So like any irresponsible person that doesn't give a rat's behind about anyone other than themselves, she tosses it, or should It be said, plants it by design.

This chewing gum bait has been set earlier as it was throughout all of her campaigns, as maneuvers like these are common practice for her and a small group of misfits.

Sitting with her bosom nearly exposed her porcelain white skin basks in a shaded area of the bus stop, not more than thirty feet directly in front of McCail. Legs that were built, and I mean built, to support this stunning foundation of beauty, draped one over the other in a voluptuous visual display.

Her highlighted eyes melt and screamed delight to McCail. He sits like a deer in her headlights. A slow sultry once over is presented to him, her lips ached and moaned as if on a lusty scavenger hunt for his buried treasures as his jewels are slowly beginning to rise.

Trapped in her spell he sits almost drooling. Cancel that, he does drool!


She stands and moves to the curb side and spits a glob of well chewed gum onto the sidewalk, all the time keeping eye contact. A smile and wink is now sent his way as she turns and reclaims her seat.

"Well I'll be. What a Bitch!" Thinking also 'she probably blows bubbles out her ass as well.'

"I'll get you, you little shit!"

McCail begins studying the habitual way that Jasmine rushed to a nearby phone each time it'd ring, about every four-minute's. Setting back on his stone perch he viewed her as she had him, prey.

Lights flashed in his blue eyes as an idea came to roost, twisting his mouth into a broad mischievous, Jack Nicholson grin.

"What kind of paint is this" ask McCail who had strolled over to two journeymen painters as they were beginning to break for lunch.

"Loch Ness, oil based enamel! Only the finest oil base in all of England," Replies the lead painter. "Dries in about eight-hour's time, even on a cooker like today. You a painter mate?"

"Well I used to be during the summer months to make money during semester breaks." Replies McCail. "Then after that had to take up herding cattle in Montana, just to get the fumes outta my lungs."

A small amount of laughter tickles their conversation to one another as so did their departure, as the painters head off to lunch.

The paint crew from the city's maintenance offices was repairing damages done by so called, "graffiti artists" to a mural of a killer whale. Using black to cover up the part of the whales back that had provided a writing tablet for some idiot named 'Lizard Boy,' would work out beautifully for McCail.

He sits and waits.

A motorist being given a ticket for parking in a restricted zone and then loudly arguing with the constable about the injustice of it all, provided the opportunity that McCail needed.

Jasmine turned and halfway walked into their conversation as he snuck over and grabbed a China hair paint brush by its handle.

Tapping a brush against the sides of a paint pot is the proper way to fully load a paint brush and he does it like a pro. Practiced in the art of bushwhacking himself he felt the best way to get a deed done was just to do it without hesitation, in broad daylight.

So he and his one sticky shoe crackle's and pop's their way across the street and into enemy territory. It is done in stealth fashion, that is, head on and during a barrage of confusion. Walking with his loaded retaliatory weapon of choice he makes his way to the telephone booth, lifts the receiver then applies a nonchalant coat of England's finest to the handle, ear and mouth piece.

His forward movements were precise in action, just as so, was his retreat. Before he was able to return the brush into its place of rest, the phone rang.

Jumping with the spring of a nineteen year old, Jasmine bounds over a short row of hedges before reaching for the phone, just as he is about ready to put the brush to rest. He pauses and turns to watch Jasmine.

Black on white stuck to the right side of Jasmine's beautiful face making its impression on her. For sure!

Gabbing for about 10 seconds only applied more of its chaotic splendor as the paint spread its black magic up and down her beautiful face.

To the high cheekbones a black shadow has been added. To those sultry puffy lips go the accents of a perforated mouth piece that highlights the tip of her smudged nose. Last but not least go the temporary changes to her perfectly shaped right ear that now consumes her left, as she changes hands and brushes her black hair away from her deep green eyes and solid forehead.

An atom bomb blast detonates inside her mind, halting her conversation as she becomes increasingly aware that something was most definitely wrong.

Looking through her now squinty and sticky false eyelashes Jasmine examines her hands that now search her face for a clue of what is happening.

A puzzled look appears as reality sinks in. She looks up in shock. She, like a deer caught in the headlights, stares helplessly into space, and then into the smiling and mischievous eyes of McCail, who now sets the brush back in place, stands tall, smiles and then winks. Thinking to himself, 'oh the beauty of it all!'

Dancing a jig he waves and gives her multiple finger salutes as a bus approaches and is about to pass between the two. She continues frozen in time as he dances towards the bus and then she thaws, and explodes. Her eyes turn to daggers which are hurled at him, sharpened and pointed. Then she places two newly painted black fingers between her black teeth and whistles loud as the street becomes alive with many angry voices.

Fleeing the scene of the crime with his loot of "gotcha" fully intact is marred once again.

A passing bus is used for his getaway but just as his left foot steps onto the step of the bus his right shoe again is caught by her gum and firmly holds his sandal to the street.

"Driver stop."

"Sorry. Not in this neighborhood, once is enough, plus i'm behind in me schedule."

"Shit."

His shoe is left behind in the fumes as the bus pulls away, and Jasmine and a dozen of her friends begin chasing and tossing anything in sight at the fleeing McCail.

"You bloody bastard" is heard by McCail as the bus pulls away and the driver guns it. McCail grins knowing that he is just such a man.

McCail pulls out his list and alters number:

18. I hate this place. Buy shoes... Conclusion... Ann and Fuxking England.



"Please Ann don't ask. It'd be too hard to explain!" Were his only words to Ann as he hobbles towards her one shoe-less.

"You just can't stay out of trouble, can you?"

"Come on let's go back to the room Ann, I'm hungry and tired."

"Hungry? How about all those nuts you stole on the plane?"

"Oh, thanks for reminding."

"Want some?"

"No thank you Mister, I had some and they tasted rancid."