Monday, March 2, 2009


Your correspondent battled typhoid for most of the week, and was laid in his hammock for days on end looking pretty gaunt. That said, I have only the time and energy before starting work at the cinnabar mines to relate one Jackstory. Lucky you.

On Thursday, I'm fiddling around with the ship's (color!) Tele-Vision set minding my own while the Cap'n bounces uncontrollably in his Jumperoo. I'm watching my 34th Eastwood film of the week, and suddenly I find it very strange to be actually hearing the dialogue. Usually I just hear the gunfire and see lips move. Jack provides all the other sound effects.

So I look over, and the poor kid is slumped over in the contraption like a crash victim. For a good solid 30 minutes, a placid little puddle of drool forms as the Skip takes his ease. I. Got. Pictures. No, not with me (they discourage that sort of thing at the mines). Yes, I'll post them. No, not now. Quit your nagging.

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