There Goes My Eyeball Into Your Highball

 Before we get to this pic, remember the armadillo that we picked up that got loose in the rig?  Well, we were watching TV the other night and saw a story on tiny Carville, Louisiana and its former leper colony**. And as luck would have it, the biggest carrier of leprosy is the armadillo. An alarming number of the little buggers carry the leprosy virus. That's true. So we rounded the sucker up, gave him the heave-ho, he rolled up like a sow bug and he's probably rolling still. Hope we didn't hurt him. But he nipped Paul as he was getting the bum's rush so as the old song goes, "Leprosy: it's crawling all over me.There goes my eyeball into your highball"... So now we're waiting to see which part of Paul falls off first.

Still have the scorpions and the snakes in the trailer plus damaging hail is expected tonight in northwest Florida.  Now...for the pictures. 

Pulled into our RV park in Tampa--the Bay Bayou Resort. We're sitting outside on a hot, humid evening enjoying a drink and the bbq and here comes the damn bug sprayer.

 He didn't go around the park just once. Oh, hell no. He went around the park about five times. The place looked like the smoking lounge at the Elks Lodge.

 We damn near choked to death on the smoke and we still had mosquitoes. Our drink and dinner were ruined. Paul has leprosy. No ill effects from the rattlesnake bite. Hell, the scorpions don't bother us at all now. We just don't walk around the joint barefoot. In spite of it all, Daisy is hanging in there. Wondering what these two birds have dragged her into.

 So we thought we would rescue the trip with an excursion into Tampa. There's a piece of work for you. More freeways, expressways, tollways, and holes in the highways than you'll find anywhere in L.A..

 It's full of car repair shops...

 Tire shops...

 Accidents...

 Some good restaurants...

 Bikers...

 Hooters wannabees and nudie bars...

 But this place does have its saving grace--in the 'burb of Brandon: our go-to shrine of overindulgence: COSTCO! Where would America be without Costco and WalMart? It wouldn't even be worth getting out of bed in the morning.

 And the best gasoline deals in Tampa can be found here. $6.25 per gallon for unleaded regular. But hell, you're saving so much on toilet paper that you don't care that they're gouging you on gas.

 Bought a Powerball ticket somewhere in Alabama, I think. Got 4 out of the 6 numbers. And you've heard the story of the "dog ate my homework"? You guessed it. We thought about opening her up right then and there but nah.  She's worth more to us than a few grand we were going to use to pay for gas.

 Stopped at a Cuban sandwich shop. Found this suspicious device under our seat. We think Fidel has operatives here in the Tampa area. When I held it up, people scattered like rats leaving a sinking ship.  Police showed up. Said, "Yep. It's a small IED-type thing." Oh, come on. For heaven's sake, it's just a big fried Cuban potato ball packed with meat, not explosives. But Paul exploded that same night and the next morning. His delicate system can't take it. Still, these balls were mighty tasty. Ate 24 of them at lunch. Along with a twelve pack of Libre beer.

 Pretty house on the water. But this is not Tampa. This is St. Petersburg Beach. This is the Florida you come looking for. And it's also where our friends live. Thank you, Jesus. Or Hay-soos. Or whatever that Cuban's name is. It's also close to where Paul's good Marine buddy is in rehab. (Forgive me, Jesus. Especially during Holy Week.)

And this is Paul's Marine buddy Willie who is slowly but surely recovering from a stroke-like event. His lovely wife Gail holds our soon-to-be twenty-two-pound overweight Daisy and you know the clown on the right. Oh, Paul went on to become Commandant of the Marine Corps while Willie remained a lowly lance corporal. It's  been difficult for Paul to fraternize with the troops but he perseveres...and here's that other clown.

 The first clown's girlfriend, celebrating her 27th birthday.

 And we can never put enough shots of Daisy in. Here she is rolling in the grass. She can barely roll over since she's so fat.

 Daisy poolside at Willie's house. While he's in rehab we took over the place. Here's Chub-olicious about to take a leap...

 ...to retrieve her tennis ball.

 Yay! Good girl. She has the ball.  Ain't this the most insufferable blog you've read all day? We're running out of material...

And, of course, no takeover of someone's house can possibly be complete unless the woman of the house (Gail) fixes one fine dinner. Man, can this woman cook. So we had fried chicken, baked beans, corn on the cob, coleslaw, mac and cheese, and apple pie.

While we were enjoying dinner, by the way, Daisy encountered a possum in the backyard. Tried bringing Daisy into the house but Willie and Gail have four cats. What a circus that almost became. Where this dog developed her aversion to cats we'll never know. She liked the armadillo. Oh. Daisy's tail just fell off. You don't suppose?...

Anyway, we're going to the Perry, Florida Elks for dinner. Didn't expect anything special but were astounded at the results. That'll be in our next blog.

Gotta go. Sue ya, Daisy

** The documentary on the Hansen's Disease colony in Carville was produced by Louisiana Public Broadcasting in 2005. Very well done. A real eye-opener since I hadn't heard of it. And I've heard about everything. Well, almost everything. The Sisters of Charity-run hospital and community of 400 lepers (Hansen's Disease victims) closed awhile ago but there is a museum on the premises. We may stop by on our way back to Arizona. And yes, political pundit and former Marine James Carville and his family hail from this part of the state.