To Shriek Or Not To Shriek
Either Way, Someone Will Be Amused
Connecticut Yankee is apparently much amused by tales that include El Capitan shrieking like a kindergarten-age girl being chased by rabid mutant weasels.
One of his favorites is the one where El Capitan was attempting to change out Rockhauler's radiator hoses in the dead of night using tools barely fit for the task. Rockhauler was stuck inside at work doing inventory or something, and had called me up to ask me to go buy the hoses while the parts store was still open. ConnYank drove me (car-impaired, as usual) to Pep Boys, then out to Computer City where Rockhauler's truck was located.
While Connecticut Yankee stood neatly out of the way holding a ciggie butt in one hand, and presumably his unit in the other, I'm underneath the truck holding a mini-Maglite in my teeth and sweating trying to get the damn things changed out so Rockhauler will be able to drive home that night.
About the time I remembered that I ought to have opened up the radiator petcock beforehand, the clamp on the lower hose loosened, the hose slipped off the bracket, and 3 gallons of a 140 degree F water/antifreeze mix come cascading down on me.
If you allow Connecticut Yankee to give his version of events, when he gets to the part where I get soaked, he'll start making these horrible ululations somewhat reminiscent of a marabou stork being gangraped by a troop of proboscis monkeys with 3rd stage syphilis.
Now, I'll admit to making some sounds indicating my relative discomfort. With a mouthful of flashlight and a faceful of hot propylene glycol, however, they were much more subdued than the wailing cacaphony that Connecticut Yankee is fond of producing.
Shrieks. Feh. More like deep, manly yells, carrying the full range of my emotional capacity within their tonal vibrations. Yeah, that's the ticket!
Connecticut Yankee is apparently much amused by tales that include El Capitan shrieking like a kindergarten-age girl being chased by rabid mutant weasels.
One of his favorites is the one where El Capitan was attempting to change out Rockhauler's radiator hoses in the dead of night using tools barely fit for the task. Rockhauler was stuck inside at work doing inventory or something, and had called me up to ask me to go buy the hoses while the parts store was still open. ConnYank drove me (car-impaired, as usual) to Pep Boys, then out to Computer City where Rockhauler's truck was located.
While Connecticut Yankee stood neatly out of the way holding a ciggie butt in one hand, and presumably his unit in the other, I'm underneath the truck holding a mini-Maglite in my teeth and sweating trying to get the damn things changed out so Rockhauler will be able to drive home that night.
About the time I remembered that I ought to have opened up the radiator petcock beforehand, the clamp on the lower hose loosened, the hose slipped off the bracket, and 3 gallons of a 140 degree F water/antifreeze mix come cascading down on me.
If you allow Connecticut Yankee to give his version of events, when he gets to the part where I get soaked, he'll start making these horrible ululations somewhat reminiscent of a marabou stork being gangraped by a troop of proboscis monkeys with 3rd stage syphilis.
Now, I'll admit to making some sounds indicating my relative discomfort. With a mouthful of flashlight and a faceful of hot propylene glycol, however, they were much more subdued than the wailing cacaphony that Connecticut Yankee is fond of producing.
Shrieks. Feh. More like deep, manly yells, carrying the full range of my emotional capacity within their tonal vibrations. Yeah, that's the ticket!
posted by El Capitan | 2:44 PM
<< Home