Life's A Beach

Good Morning, Boys and Girls,

The Toad has been on the road quite a bit over the last two years.  Not one of you mean-spirited little toads and toadettes even sent a card.  Even the putative "assistants" who absolutely promised to keep the vital work of sneering going here have disappointed. Well, expect punishment, bunky. Rawk!

Nevertheless, the Toad is benificent, particularly when he has been spending much of the last few years sunning himself down at Foley Beach.  The Toad just had to go. All of the beautiful people are there.  No one is at all shabby, and there is no deviant behavior except for a bunch of women who seem to dress up like clergy quite a bit and, of course, the Toad.

Well, boys and girls, the Toad was out one glorious evening tossing a little of Nobel's Finest off the pier to raise up a few fish for dinner, when a neighbor lady in a fetching gents summer suit and dog collar showed up in her Ebbtide Bowrider with the powerful Zwingli-Geneva engines.

"Yo, Toadie," "Deacon" Sue called out as she throttled that bad boy down to a low, "Prot-prot-prot..."
"Yes, oh seersuckered maiden of the waves?  Whaddya want?  Can't you see I am fishing here?"

"I see that, Toad.  So does Foley.  He sees averything around here."
"Who the hell is Foley?" asked an irritated Toad tossing her a lit stick.  She turned whiter than possible even for an evangelical in the protestant tradition and pitched it over the side.
"Nice cast, clerical quail.  Now about Foley..."

She brushed some scrod parts off her jacket, checked the lipstick, and said, "He's the guy whose name graces this beach, Toad, and he's not very happy with you. He heard that you were a backslider and in need of pastoral care."  Suddenly, she was brandishing a Taser in one hand and a Bible in the other.
The evening was going bad in a hurry.

"I don't believe that there is a Foley Beach on this Foley Beach.  He ain't really present, and if he ain't really present, then he doesn't exist. Rawwwwk!"

She was fumbling with the Taser trigger. "Awwww, don't be like that, Toadie," she crooned, "Why don't you and I motor on down to Loganville and you can see for yourself."  She seemed to be becoming a bit fuzzy, or maybe it was the shaker of Love on the Beach cocktails in the old Coleman cooler.

The Toad makes a point never to motor anywhere with the delusional, particularly on the open sea. "Are you going to talk, or are you going to fish?" "Besides, if he ain't really present, he just ain't, and you seem to be a bit of a novelty yourself sister."

She was now, well, See-Through-Sue. The Taser now forgotten, sher implored, "Toady, I am as valid as anyone and you need to stop all of that "really present" stuff.  It's so..."
"Judgemental, bunky?" An airborne flounder nearly winged her rapidly fading form.

"No, oh Toad, sacramental. And we don't like that. Now, get in the boat and we'll power on over to Foley's.  Johnny Knox and the Hugos are plaing at the cabana club, and they are having bread and wine. They'll let anyone have some. Even you, Toad."

"Naw, Susie-Q, I may be a Toad, but I like my reality really present."
With that, she just sort of winked out, seercucker and all.  Only the soft, "Prot-prot-prot" of the idling twin Zwinglis could be heard over the surf.

The Toad knows that there is only one thing to do in such a situation: grab the boat, crank up the Django Django and drink responsibly!  "Prot-prot-prot...Bwaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Life's a Beach" (with apologies to Django, Django)

That how you want to play it
Break my heart and go Rome
Why'd you want to go do that, we're not even really present

That how you want to sing it
I've been having loads of fun
I think I've heard that song before, it ends up as a prayer book

That how you want to see it
If you just have a 'tongue?'
Tunnel vision, never listen, no we're never going to Rome

You're a good time killer
Another study you'll condone
Overlooked by Anglo-catholics, playing miter, cope and throne

Sea has ... something stirring
On the currents down below
There's a beach out of reach, pack that missal so we can go

The same old stuff starts all over
Switch it up and overhaul
Step in line, get in time, speed it up until we fall

Now, toadies, let’s put on our clam diggers, take up our shovels and pails, and see what we can find scouring Foley Beach. And let's not forget to share a little
 
Love on the Beach

Ingredients:

•2/3 oz. Schnapps, peach
•1 1/3 oz. Vodka
•1 1/3 oz. Cranberry Juice
•1 1/3 oz. Orange Juice

Mixing Instructions

Combine ingredients in a cocktail shaker with ice. Shake and strain into a highball glass filled with ice. Eight of these and you'll be beached.  Rawwwwwwk!