Ricky and Me...

Several days ago I called the Governor of Florida, the (less than) Honorable Rick Scott. Of course he recognized my number and took the call. He keeps me on his speed dial for whenever he wants my advice to not follow. I think he must have been on one of his yachts, maybe enjoying the gentle roll of Caribbean Seas. I could hear Calypso music and the sound of ice cubes rattling in glasses in the background. Ricky and I don't see eye to eye on, well, anything. But when he wants to know what the little people think, I'm his guy.

He answered:

Ricky: “Maverick! Wazzzzzzzsup my home boy?”

Me: “Hey Ricky, I want my money back!”

Ricky: “What money? What you be talkin bout Willis?”

Me: “My Florida warranty money, I'm fucking freezing here and even though I give you a pass for unprecedented corruption and insider dealing and not letting anyone but rich white people vote, you've got to actually do something about this cold. Remember you told me that you were in control of everything in Florida, including the weather? Well, I believed you! Now my testicles are the size of Pistachios, and one of my dogs has her tongue frozen onto what what used to be fresh water in her outside dish. She's really cold and I'm out of wood for the fire I built on the coffee table.”

Ricky: “Where did you go, Alaska?”

Me: “No douchebag! I'm still right here in St Augustine and it's 29 degrees out there!”

Ricky: “I had no idea. Unless people tell me these things, how would I know? Let me see what I can do.”

In the background I heard him call: “Jeb, would you let that young lady sit in someone else's lap for a moment and come over here? Hey, do you know anybody that has an in with weather control?”

So that's the gist of it because now, three days later, it's 70 degrees at 9AM and going up into the 80's.

I doubted my friend Tony when he told me that Ricky doesn't actually control the weather, obviously he does. So even though he's a lying scumbag one percent-er who's only concern is for the selfish interests of his cronies and himself, I'm thinking as I slip on one of my many bad Hawaiian shirts: “I just love that guy...and his shiny smooth head!”