It was fun last night hanging out with my pal Bob Schneider here in Florida. Except nobody photobombed us. Isn’t there a way you can photobomb us through the wonders of photoshop? I bet even Gandhi would’ve done it. Look at all that room behind us.
So I saw this on my beach walk here in Grayton Beach Florida in the old panhandle. The reason the water is separated is because I had to pee really bad. Look at all the pee that came out of me!
Last night after Bob Schneider’s great show here in Florida at The 30A Songwriter’s Festival, a really nice person got her picture taken with Bob and some dang fool had to photobomb it. The nerve of these people. The nerve. The nerve.
Today when I got out of yoga I put back on my socks and boots and a woman approached me and asked why my socks said ‘porn’ on them. I looked at them and pulled them up and said “I think they say Portland. Namaste.”
So she said “I’m so sorry. Now I’m embarrassed. I’m turning red. Ugh. By the way, my name is Sarah.”
So I said “Nice to meet you Sarah. I’m Ron. Ron Jeremy.”
I’m finally returning to Georgia after all these years. This Sunday Jan 18 at 6 pm at Eddie’s Attic. Have you guys ever been to Georgia and eaten peaches? It’s going to be wonderful. Tell all your friends and then tell strangers. Like maybe if you’re standing in line at the ATM or getting groceries just shout out my name and say Eddie’s Attic 6pm. Here’s the link for tickets and winning lotto numbers and the answer to life.
This poor old Florida chair served many butts in its day and this is the thanks it gets? I felt sad as I drove by it so I turned around and said-
“Hello old chairy chairerson. You sure look defeated and tired.”
He had a thick southern accent and drawled “I wah wit ol Buford Magee down der by da swamp aynd his lil doggies put a hurtin on me but I din’t mind. Dey was good peeple. Cept fer when ol Buford was gassy. Den it wasn’t so fun. One night Buford got drunk and shot his tellyvision just like he was Elvis.”
“You must have been scared. Would you ever suggest to Buford that perhaps he was lactose intolerant? Or maybe that the copious amounts of gmo gluten substances were Monsanto-ing his system into a state of dystopia?” I yammered on and on until the chair cut me off.
“I don’t know what yer takking bout city boi. We just ate Wendy’s Baconators and Burger King Whoppers and milkshakes and chips. We had all da food groups. I only got to eat what dey spilt on me. I’m all stained up and old now and ain’t nobody want me.”
“I want you Chairy. Please come to San Diego with me. Hopefully Southwest Airlines lets me bring your flea infested pervy DNA soaked cushions and frame on board. I won’t quit you Chairy. I won’t quit you!”
Please donate to my Chairy Chairy Kickstarter fund to bring Chairy Chairerson to San Diego.
Any amount helps.
So I’m at this festival called The 30A Songwriters Festival in South Walton Florida and tonight I played the opening night party with Kim Richey, Glen Phillips, Liz Longley, Shawn Mullins and Rodney Crowell. We swapped songs and stories and it was a hoot of the highest order of hoot owls. Everyone was in a happy opening night music festival mood. I remembered most of the words to my songs and this made me smile. It was a great night.
Then all of a sudden there were flying monkeys hanging from the rafters throwing grapes at us from a distance of about 21 yards. I got hit in the eye and the grape exploded like a firecracker of grapey goodness. One of the Hoot Owls got into a fight with one of the Monkeys and they were swinging to and fro and scratching and biting each other while people screamed in fear. After they evacuated the place we watched The Poseidon Adventure and The Marathon Man and ate Screaming Yellow Zonkers. Then I took my shoes off and set them on fire because I wanted to be like Abebe Bikila and run a barefoot marathon.
Truth and lies–
Now I’m back at my flat and I’m ready to crash but there’s a gator in my soup. Excuse me, waiter? There’s an alligator in my soup. It tastes just like a chicken who grew up in the swamp eating catfish. I think I’ll watch an episode of Justified and see what it’s all about. I’m so sleepy I’ll only last 3 minutes. Zzzzzz
These folks have been my hiking companions the last few days in Florida. That’s my songwriting pal
Grant Peeples and his three girls.
You got Mama Dog on the left. She was a rescue dog that was shot a couple times and was a hog dog and would hunt wild hogs.
She’s the alpha dog and the other two pee where she pees.
Scruffy is in the middle and she’s a rescue dog and got her left ear bit off in a fight with a possum. She gets to ride up front with grant because she causes the least trouble.
On the right you got Lucy. She’s also a rescue dog and the wildest and almost died from a snake bite. Grant lives out in the boondocks and last night there was an armadillo under the floors where I was sleeping and that dog was going nuts.
They have to eat their dinners in separate rooms to avoid WW3 from breaking out.
Scruffy sat on my feet when the other dogs were near because she claimed me. She made me her bitch.
I love them all.
Me and my songwriter pal Grant Peeples destroyed 48 raw oysters here in Florida. They were 10 dollars a dozen. The best I’ve ever had. They were from about 15 miles from where we ate them. I wanted to wipe them in my hair to disguise my scent so my prey wouldn’t know I was around.
I’m in the panhandle of The F L A. Just went on a beautiful walk on this empty beach called Saint Teresa. Hello Florida. Hanging out with my songwriter pal Grant Peeples. It’s spooky purty out here.