Pool_1

males can't wave their penises in public. Waving guitars is OK. Loud is even better - bigger, kind of. "You're back early?" Alhomose Haddawy this night's Piper chief, questioned. "You didn't call. Did you forget the route?" "Al, I'm out. I got nothing left, including my hearing. I could have sold the damned dry ice, maybe. Any rats need their heads frozen?" Marcus jested with humility and an innocent shoulder shrug expecting little more than a hand gesture as to where to park his truck. Al suppressed the obvious, "This guy IS weird," at the obtuse reference to freezing rodent heads. Why? Because Al was confronted with magnificence. Could it be true? "Nooooooooo," an excited shaking of disbelief and awe. A dispersed night crew came from all directions at Al's beckoning scream, "Holy shit! He beat Sloan Eberhart's record! HE BEAT EBERHART'S RECORD!" Shrine-like, the Piper truck was approached and examined as each man craned to verify that there was nothing left inside. "Nothing in there," each confirmed in turn, then looking at the clock, noting the time. The pit crew had turned into a cargo cult circling and touching the actual chariot fallen from heaven into their presence. Neither Mishna nor Gemara prepared them for this. "Mister," Alhomose pushed out his chest, as if presenting the Piper Congressional Medal of Honor to a war hero of highest valor, "YOU GET RUM BANANA!" A round of applause and hand shaking followed. Spooky and odd was the thrill that Marcus got from it, accepting congratulations with a broad smile and gracious returned thank you's. With a little reflection, he thought, "This is weird. Should I feel pride for rum banana? Would mom be sooo proud that I got rum banana? Oh, my baby, Momma's so