Great idea! Here's mine: 

 He removed his scuba regulator, “What a perfectly fine day!” Fleetwood 
exclaimed, as he looked approvingly around in his undersea club house. 
 Well, actually, from the outside, it was a shipping container, inside a 
swimming pool. He was already thinking of painting it purple and orange. “Maybe 
I'll compose a song in here, underwater...”
 After awhile, he got out, dried off, and then it was time to do some 
bushwhacking – suiting up, in a t-shirt, jams, and flip flops, he billy goats 
down the wild side of his property, cuts a cord of oak with the chainsaw, and 
films three deer, as they pose for him, in the trees. Then he talks to them, 
explains that Guru Dev is nearby, and they nod, making ear gestures in deer 
language to each other, indicating this one is a few cans short of a six-pack.
 Back up to the house, rummaging in the fridge for some lunch – Aha, some 
chili, mashed potatoes, with champagne and ice cream! That'll do...Then 
settling in for The Price Is Right, and possibly Family Feud, with Steve 
Harvey. Everybody wins.
 Later on, a refreshing one hundred laps in the pool, the last ten done walking 
ON the water. Then, after a quick shower he readies himself for one of his 
greatest feats, rappelling down the side of his single story house. Just then 
the side door opens, “Honey, what are you doing?!?! Anyway, your daughter is on 
the phone...don't break anything...”



---In, <awoelflebater@...> wrote :


---In, <fleetwood_macncheese@...> wrote :

 <shower running in the background>
 Barry, humming his fave Bruce Cockburn tune, steps out, notices the floor got 
all wet - "let the fukin' roomies mop it up..." "Hey good lookin'..." he says 
to the mirror, imagining him and Bruce, pals, just like him and Curtis...bros, 
in a rock n' roll world. 
 He tousles his thinning hair, slaps some Stetson after-shave on his sagging 
jowls, pulls on his Jerry Garcia t-shirt (signed by the Dalai Lama), some 
jeans, and shuffles, a little hurriedly, towards that favorite bar of his, "Le 
Petite Chausser". 
 Sure, no one ever says a word to him, but he's got 'em convinced of his 
popularity on the 'Net -- a sideways glance to no one, a secret chuckle at the 
screen, a little too loud, perhaps an escape of laughter, as the ever convivial 
waitress approaches, for Barry's inevitable third drink order, and inevitable 
 Reading a little too much into her social nature, Barry tried once, to explain 
the "cult addicted idiots" on his laptop. She smiled, but he heard her laughing 
quietly, as she walked away. bitch. 
 Oh well, at least an hour or two out of his room - "...fukin' roomies - fukin' 
conformist Dutch - fukin' Maharishi - fukin Steve - fukin Judy - fukin Jimbo - 
fukin Robin, Share, jr, Richard, Jedi, Ann, Em, Rory, Bob Price, and all the 
rest of those losers...Ah, at last, Fairfieldlife has loaded, I hate those 

 As you might expect, I enjoyed this. I'm sure we could all write one about 
almost everyone here and even about ourselves. I'd like to see everyone write a 
parody of themselves - it would show what good sports we are. I'm going to 
start working on mine.


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