Whit

Whit to Sportface: “Get Off My Yacht”

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Puffing on a Camel, Whit sits with Head at the Bethany Beach Marina tinkering with the 6,000-pound engine of his 260-foot yacht. It’s a brand new triple-decker the size and style of Jordan Belfort’s in Wolf of Wall Street.

Whit bought his yacht last Winter. He had visions of racing it up and down the Bethany Beach and Indian River Inlet shore to the roar of beach-goers on the sand. He fantasized about being cheered on by throngs of hero-worshipers like when like Danny Zuko dazzled his fans in the race in the sewage landfill in Greased Lightning.

But his visions for those races and glory have been going up in cigarette smoke lately as he’s been harassed to have 97 of his high school buddies on his yacht for a Booz Crooze around Bethany Beach Bay this summer.

“This is all Sportface’s fault,” he said. “I don’t want him coming on my yacht this summer or ever. I’ll start chugging Orange Crushes with Rudy and telling stories about my past and the next morning he’ll post them on that stupid-ass Baby Boomer Brotherhood page for all his 22 followers to see. I don’t see the upside of that. It’s bad publicity to be featured on that fake news site.

“This doesn’t add up,” Whit continues. “Sportface gets a free ride on my yacht and then feels it’s OK to reveal things about my past I don’t want out there. I mean, I did what I did and it’s all true and most of it was wrong. But it doesn’t mean I want everybody finding out about it 35 years later. There’s nothing in that for me.”

Head thinks it over. He’s on the top deck because his Head won’t fit in the lower two decks. His thoughts take a long time to run around his brain because his head extends for yards in all directions.

“I think Sportface should be invited,” says Head. “He writes about me and I get a kick out of reading about myself even if it’s always about how gigantic my head is. No other blogger gives me the column inches Sportface does. It’s not good press. But at least my name gets out there.”

Puffing his Camel, Whit calls Rudy.

“Sportface ain’t coming on my yacht this summer,” said Whit. “He ain’t no fun to be around business and stains my reputation. I can’t be having some guy eating my lobsters, bringing onboard messy Entenmann’s Chocolate Donuts, and enjoying himself on my boat for a joyride and then writing private and unattractive stuff about me the next day. That ain’t no square deal.”

“Screw Sportface,” said Rudy. “We’ll just tell him the Booze Crooze is on one weekend. He’ll drive eight hours by himself, like the sucker and loser that he is, and show up at the dock but no one will be there. And we’ll have the Booze Crooze another weekend and not tell him.”

Puffing his Camel, Whit thinks it over.

“I like it, Rudy. Give Sportface some fake date. Lie to him. And we’ll make plans for the real Crooze on another date.”

To be continued…

Sammy Sportface

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Sammy Sportface

Sammy Sportface, a sports blogger, galvanizes, inspires, and amuses The Baby Boomer Brotherhood. And you can learn about his vision and join this group's Facebook page here: Sammy Sportface Has a Vision -- Check It Out Sammy Sportface -- The Baby Boomer Brotherhood Blog -- Facebook Page
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Sammy Sportface
Sammy Sportface
Sammy Sportface, a sports blogger, galvanizes, inspires, and amuses The Baby Boomer Brotherhood. And you can learn about his vision and join this group's Facebook page here:

Sammy Sportface Has a Vision -- Check It Out

Sammy Sportface -- The Baby Boomer Brotherhood Blog -- Facebook Page

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