Tomorrow, there’s a get-together at my big brother’s house here in Cali. I’m not sure what he’ll be serving, so I’m bringing both a ’65 Moet and Pizza-Blasted Pringles. Consider my ass covered.
But don’t consider my ass eaten by a shark, because that ain’t happening. Last Saturday, a surfer took the above shot of a Great White off Sunset Beach in Santa Monica. So for the time being, the only place I’m getting wet is in the world’s tiniest stand-up shower. (Those of you who’ve seen it can vouch, and then contemplate how I bathe a Pit Bull in there with me every Sunday night.)
On a side note, is there any movie in the history of film that made more of an impact on our lives than Jaws? I think about it every time I set foot into the ocean. Or an above-ground pool, for that matter.
So no death-by-shark for me. I’ve already chosen the way I want to eventually go out: assassination.
Safe weekend.
