The Charlie Bravo Story

Pop goes the weasel

As I’m going to be a bit incognito over the next two weeks, starting a new career and all that, I figured that I would go out with a “bang”, so to speak. Thanks to the kindness of others I have a great opportunity before me and i am thankful. but Charlie’s story is where my heart lies. One of these days maybe it will be self supporting, but so far, it has not, so onward we go.

The following post was written by Charlie, who got the story second paw from Marco Polo, so I would challenge the veracity of her recounting.

Although mom says it’s dead on the money.

Charlie here: as you know, the Casa thrives on the doctrine of full disclosure, no matter how off putting or unpleasant the subject may be. It seems that people are attracted to complete honesty in the pursuit of truth, much like Diogenes stumbling around with his lantern looking for the last honest man. Personally, I’ve always wanted to know why old Dio didn’t do his searching during the day, thus saving himself many a broken sandal and stumped toe.

I think Diogenes must have eaten paint chips as a child.

Anyway, boys and girls, the subject of today’s dissertation:

Burger King’s Spicy Chicken Seizure, er, Ceasar Sammich.

Mom and dad discovered this aromatic treat on a recent road trip to Illinois with Marco Polo. They were so good (the sandwiches, not mom and dad) that they stopped on the way home and snagged two more.

Someone obviously wasn’t thinking this through.

The car humming quietly through the night lulled dad to sleep, and only the screams of mom could keep him awake as the car shot off of the road and into the swampy underbrush; the subsequent splash and melodious sound of rising bubbles acting as harmony to the sweet song of the bullfrogs singing the songs of their ancestors.

Dad always said that when he dies, he wants to go like his grandfather, peacefully in his sleep, not screaming in panic like his passengers. Well, it looks like he was going to get his wish.

Not really; actually, I just made that last part up. Mom was driving, and dad was examining the inside of his eyelids for pinholes and serenading Marco with snores, who was curled up in his lap. The spicy Chicken Caeser sandwiches had ample time to ferment and percolate, forming a gaseous mass so toxic that it was desperately in search of an egress of escape from itself.

Remember how Peter Parker was motivated to pick a peck of pickled peppers after being bitten by a ‘pider, thus incurring the superpowers of Piderman? Well, dad must have been dreaming that he been bitten by a ‘kunk, as an odour resembling that of Satan’s armpit began to fill the car. The only two immediately affected were Marco and dad; Marco, who thought he was smelling his own breath, and dad, who thought he was dreaming that he was snoring through his hind end.

But eventually, the beckoning tendrils of vapour began to make mom’s nostrils twitch and snuffle in search of the source of such an entrancing aroma. As Marco had gorged on twice his body weight in chicken nuggets while consistently refusing to go #3(you know, more than #2), mom assumed that he was the culprit.


Of course, this awoke dad and alerted him that discretion was necessary, lest mom discover the truth, that she had in fact married a farm animal. On the other cheek, capping the well was not a viable option, as the pressure would eventually become so great that he would eventually Moby Dick(you know, “thar she blows!!”), sending him bouncing around around the interior of the car like a newly freed balloon.

So, the solution; continue to let Marco take the heat, so to speak. A few minutes passed, dad feigning sleep while the barometric pressure continued to rise. Then the inevitable one cheek sneak, and again, mom’s bellow warned passing ships of our proximity:


Hmmm… this is working! This is a GREAT plan! This has worked out twice, let’s just see if the third time is the charm! (Poink)


It’s always a party at the Casa, even on the road; this time I was happy I WASN’T there.

Happy Charlie Bravo Day!

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