Parrothead Ramblings

The alleged famous guy bottle cap, along with an artist's
conception of the blonde stranger country music dude.

Last year, the Crime Dog family ambled out to Dallas. Well, I think we ambled, anyway. Maybe we strolled. Or sauntered. Or it was quite possibly even a mosey that got us there. I knew a guy when I was in the Air Force that use to sashay pretty much everywhere, but then one day they sent him home to San Francisco and we never heard from him again. There I go, meandering off on another tangent. OK, so we went to Dallas for that big show at Texas Stadium with Jimmy and those two other country dudes, whatever their names were. Great time, great fun, the Dallas pre-concert tailgate bash is always the very best. It was great to be in Texas Stadium, because I have always been a huge Dallas Cowboy fan. So the next day, once we rolled out of the rack and choked down a couple of Bloody Marys, we decided to boogie (I'm running out of synonyms fast. Hey.....is there a synonym for "synonym"?)on over to Texas Stadium to take a tour of that Holiest of Holy Shrines to the Gods of the Pigskin.

That place is about ready for a wrecking ball. What a dump. But it's our dump. The tour took us into the Cowboy locker room, which was kind of cool. What really caught my attention, though, was when the tour guide told us that the locker room had served the previous night as the dressing room for Jimmy Buffett and one of the aforementioned shit-kicking singers, whose name escapes me. Alvin something-or-other. Skinny guy, long blond hair, mustache, tight jeans. Reminded me a lot of that guy they sent home for sashaying. Whatever the case, for me, the place suddenly became much more interesting. I started looking underneath and on top of lockers, inspecting every nook and cranny, and even rifling through couch cushions to see if I could find myself a souvenir. No such luck.

The tour then headed down the tunnel and on to the field. There, we could play around like a bunch of six-year-olds - catching touchdown passes, stiff-arming Redskins on the way to the end zone and, of course, spiking the ball. Somewhere in the midst of all this grab-ass, my son-in law, we'll call him "Joe E" walks up to me and asks me "What kind of beer does Jimmy Buffett drink?" Hmmm. Good question. "Fuck do I know?" I told him. "Saw him drink a Corona on stage once a long time ago, but he's like really old now, so for all I know he's doing Metamucil shots." Then, Joe E reaches out and deposits into my hand a little gem: A Corona bottle cap he had just found inside the Cowboy locker room. Now, let me tell you about Joe E: Dude leads a charmed life. Not only did he manage to snag the second most beautiful and vivacious woman in Arizona, but he also has a combination celebrity magnet and good luck charm built into his body somewhere. The guy can take a hike through the Salt River landfill and bump in to Clint Eastwood. Not only that, but Clint will take him to dinner and give him his Dirty Harry gun as a gift. So, when he hands me this Corona cap, I know one thing immediately: This was Jimmy's beer cap. No question about it.

I'm keeping my treasure in a safe place until I can figure out just what the hell to do with it. It must be worth a fortune! If some asswipe can grab Luis Gonzales' chewed-up gum off the ground, and sell that disgusting glob for $10,000, what can my bottle cap bring on the open market? Like a million bucks?

I'm looking for suggestions as to what to do with it. Frame it? Raffle? Silent auction? EBay totally sucked with my ass-crack grapefruit. Do I give them a second chance? Maybe I should take out a million dollar insurance policy on it, box it up, and send it over to Sotheby's.

But, what if just this once, Joe E's Karma was on coffee break? This cap could actually belong to that country guy whats-his-name......who the hell was that bumpkin, anyway? Man, I just don't know. At times like this, I can't help but wonder: What would Jimmy Buffett do?
  |