Tag Archive | Pennsylvania

A Messed Up Guacamole Story

I have a friend who hates guacamole. I asked him why and he tells me: one summer when he was a child growing up in Pennsylvania he begged his mom to take him to Florida for vacation. The mom said they couldn’t afford it or didn’t have the time or whatever, but my friend just kept on bugging her. Eventually the mom says, “If you can find a way to get to Florida this summer, you can go.” This was meant as a bluff, but my friend took it at face value. He asked every teacher he knew at school if they were planning a trip to Florida for that summer. When he finally found one who was, a twenty-something female driving down for a college reunion, he asked for a ride.

Amazingly, she said yes.

So they go in this station wagon, and along the way the woman picks up a friend. They drop off my buddy with his family for a week or two and then they reconvene to head back to Pennsylvania. Well, at some point teacher and her friend had gone avocado picking (I know, right? Who does that?) and they had filled the entire car with avocados. I mean that in the literal sense—these avocados weren’t in boxes, they were just piled into the car like munitions. There was no room for my friend to sit, so they carved out a body-sized space in the rear bed of the wagon amongst the largest amount of loose avocados and he had to just lay there like this was a completely normal occurrence.

A side trip to Chattanooga (again, what?) provided enough time for all the avocados to go bad. At some point during the return to Pennsylvania, the teacher driving took a really hard turn, and my friend who was lying next to all these rotten avocados was thrown into them face-first. In the blink of an eye he found himself covered in rotten avocado junk. What’s even more messed up is the two so-called adults in charge did not take him to a hotel or a YMCA to shower off. He had to wipe himself down with a towel.

I know this sounds like the subplot from an episode of “Leave It To Beaver” but my friend swears it to be true, an honest tale of horror from our modern era. I guess I’d be scarred too.

Somehow no lawsuits were filed in the wake of this incident.

There’s A Scarf-Wearing Pig On The Loose In Pittsburgh

Pigs: they love to accessorize even though they rarely bother with the basic tenets of clothing. Just once I’d like to see a pig race down a highway in a nice pair of slacks with a Ralph Lauren polo. I guess we have to blame Porky, who spent all those years rocking that bow tie and suit jacket combo while his nether regions just dangled in the wind for every man, woman, and child to see. Shame on you, Porky, you unrepentant exhibitionist.

The Groundhog Doesn’t Actually Live In That Tree Stump, FYI

Here I am on sacred ground with my pals John P. and Jim R. in 2008. We drove four or five hours one faithful Saturday afternoon that March with our other buddy Ben D. just to visit Punxsutawney Phil, the master rodent of weather prognostication, in his natural habitat. Yes, I am suppressing a giggle because I am standing in an area known as “Gobbler’s Knob.”

The original plan was to attend that year’s G-Hog Day festivities on February 2nd; we pushed our journey back, though, because it turns out Punxsy Phil is accessible to the public any time of year via a glas-encased enclosure adjoining a library in the center of town (no, he doesn’t actually live in that tree stump!) and the general consensus amongst us jerks was that the weather might be friendly thirty days after the fact. We nearly broke our necks on that icy fallacy the minute we stepped out of the car.

For some reason, the four of us felt compelled on this trip to make our definitive “top ten favorite albums ever” lists. Here, Ben and I pretend to present Punxsutawney Phil with our selections (“He just declared six more weeks of Metallica’s Black album!”). Fun fact: the town keeps Phil’s fake stump at Gobbler’s Knob heated so he may achieve maximum comfort for the fifteen minutes a year he spends snorting around inside.

Oh hey, did I mention it was like five degrees in Punxsutawney when we were there? Because it was. Suddenly I gained a newfound respect for all those rebels who fought in the Battle of Hoth.

Four winners standing outside the groundhog’s permanent home at the library. Phil was taking a nap in the back of his area at the time, so we couldn’t really get a good picture of him. Another fun fact: the police station is located right next to the library. Thus, you’d better have some kind of incredible escape plan if you go in there with the intent to kidnap Phil (don’t waste your time trying to kill him, because according to his handlers this rodent has achieved immortality thanks to some secret magical elixir they mix into his gruel).

In fact, a cop came striding out to meet us when we were less than ten feet away from the “Groundhog Zoo.” I guess he could tell we weren’t locals. What gave it away, Officer? Was it my trucker cap or my friend John’s five hundred dollar sneakers?