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Spike and Mike

Published on October 30, 2020 under Blog
Spike and Mike

Hey there, my BTR friends. It’s that time of year for cooler weather, the leaves to fall off some trees, and the colors of license plates in Florida to change. Speaking of changing, Mike must be feeling like a chameleon this month. One minute he is protecting himself with a mask and imitating me, the next he’s trying to be The Captain. You know, that dude on a bottle of rum. He babbles, “Avast ye matey, there ye be, me scurvy winged little buccaneer. Come with me and let us pillage and plunder on the weekend of All-Hallows Eve. Thy usual mask that looks like you, just ain’t cutting it no more. We’ll show them scallywags who be ye real scourge of the seven seas: a carousing buccaneer and his little bucko buddy, bird brain.”

I cackle, “Hold on there, you cheap imitation of me and Captain Morgan. The last time you tried your pirate guise, they made us walk the plank right out the bar. Then, the Uber driver dropped us off halfway home ‘cuz you kept trying to show him my poop trick. To top the night off, you ran up to the neighbor’s door and kept knocking until they came out. They laughed at us and your silly costume, stuffed your hands full of candy, and pointed us in the direction of home.”

Mike babbles, “Well, ye little bird with a big squawking beak. That be many moons ago. This October is going to be different. There will be less grog ingested and more food digested. Our ship will sail on four wheels with four doors. Thy ports o’ call will have ballads playing and gypsies swaying. Ye will avoid the drunken carousers and the crack of Jenny’s teacup. Ye will only corral with one goddess of the sea. It will be from our Crow’s nest that we’ll listen to the chanties played by a few on stage with picks and axes. When others try to invade, she’ll be flogging them with a cat o’ nine tails or I’ll cleave them to the brisket with me trusty cutlass. There will be no landlubbers taking of ye blue and gold unto parts unknown. No strange poop decks will be covered with ye blessed droppings and no pieces of eight will be exchanged for ye companionship, sez I.”
I squawk, “Damn Mike, I hope you do lay off the grog and more on the hog. That sounds like a great plan to me, but in fruition, it rarely happens. I totally understand you don’t want to let me out of your sight, but I do have many friends that love my company. You must allow me to spread my wings of joy above them. Let me play with the people that want to feed me food. Sometimes your friends are more fun than you. In pre-covidian times you would always let me fly free, so to speak, and leave my wonderful wings with others for many hours. Don’t make me get a buber (bird Uber) ride and meet you somewhere.”

Mike breaks in, “Speakin’ of meeting, ye ship will weigh anchor and ye will hoist the Mizzen carrying your feathered ass up to Mugs and Jugs in Largo in the middle of the week. Old salt Bill McArdle with tampabaynightlife.tv has conjured up with the owners to create a whole new bike night. Ye will be meeting and greeting friends new and old most Wednesdays in the upcoming months while listening to melodies being pounded out on strings and skins. Delicious grub and strong grog served by scantily clad wenches will cover ye tables. The merriment shall abound in the hours between 6:00 and 11:00. Be there on ye choice of two or four, and in fair weather or foul. Just leave ye war outside thy kingdom’s door.”
I screech, “Sounds great! After all that pirate babbling Mike, I’m in need of some kind of wind therapy. Change your garb, grab your keys, and plop my feathered ass into the pickup. Open the sunroof and all the windows to get maximum breeze blowing across my feathers and your knuckles while its wheels roll down the road.”
—SPYKE

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