I’m madder than that guy from “90210” when he learned that that thar tornado that was loaded with hungry, killer sharks was heading for his hometown over the fact that Atlantic City is apparently out to get me, so I may never get back there to eat the delicious free buffets.
Look, you all remember what happened to me the last I headed to the home of the Monopoly board — I almost drowned in a soapy bathtub while trying to clean up for the morning buffet! And I’m sure you all remember the tough time I had even getting to the seashore after drinking a gallon of Seven-Up and eating pickles and cucumbers during the ride.
With all this bad stuff happening to me, you’d think that I would forsake my beloved Philadelphia pretzels and just stay right here in Brooklyn!
But youse guys also know that I would do anything for my lovely wife Sharon, who is a slot jockey at heart, and after she went through such a tough time with her recent stroke, there was no way I could say no when she told me we were heading to the Taj for a little R and R.
The first thing I did when I got to the casino was take my patented, aforementioned shower bubble bath.
So there I was sitting with just a towel wrapped around me when the housekeeper came knocking on my door. I opened it to tell her that she couldn’t come in, when I saw a look of horror on her face. Now, this wasn’t the first time she was told not to come inside, so I started wondering what the devil she was so upset about.
Now folks, you all know the ol’Screecher has a bit of a weight problem, and as such, towels don’t necessarily completely wrap around my plump frame. It was after I turned around that I noticed the giant mirror that was behind me when the woman was at the door, when it suddenly became clear to me what set her off.
Let’s just say that it wasn’t a moon, it was a universe!
Being in Atlantic City was the best of two possible worlds for us, because Sharon’s passion is to shrivel in the sun and mine is to eat. So when she was her lying in the sun by the pool, I took my comp and went to the Sultan’s Feast buffet for lunch and ate, ate, ate — something I’m not allowed to do when we go together.
That afternoon, Tornado earned his keep, taking me back and forth to each and every food station there was at that unbelievable food dispensary, where I had to stop because my tummy couldn’t fit in between the aisles.
So after a two and a half hour lunch, I started getting calls from Sharon asking where I was and what was I doing? Could I tell her I was still eating lunch? No way, I’m not that crazy. Instead, I told her I was going back to the suite and would meet her there.
That night I left Sharon sleeping and went to the casino’s kiosks to find out how many comps she earned for breakfast. On my way back to the suite, I couldn’t get the key to work in the door, no matter how hard I pressed it or banged on the lock with my cane.
But at some point, something must have worked because the door bounced open, slamming into Tornado with such force that we were hurled across the hall.
I hit my head, my shoulder, and elbow and was trapped under Tornado. Stunned, I looked both ways down the block-long corridor and thought of that old bat in the “I’ve fallen and can’t get up commercials.” I dialed for Sharon, but I knew that was a futile — because she sleeps with earplugs to shut out my snoring.
I heard the adjacent room’s door open and a lady left the room. I yelled “Hello” and got her attention.
“Oh!” she said. “Can I help you?
I said “No! You can’t help me, but if you call security, they can.”
In a few minutes this giant security guard appeared. I suggested he get some more help and soon a second security guard on a Segeway rolled in.
I told them to get Tornado off me and set him upright. The giant security guard grabbed me from behind while the Segeway cop pulled me from the front. They offered me medical attention, which I refused because I felt no pain, as I was full of adrenaline.
But once I wasn’t full of adrenaline, I was in a lot of pain!
Of course, Sharon didn’t hear any of this — not even my moaning and groaning all night!
Man, those ear plugs are something!
Screech at you next week!Read Carmine's screech every Saturday on BrooklynDaily.com. E-mail him at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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