Can Never Have Enough

Today, I met an older guy at the office with short white hair and matching beard. Of course, I had to say it: "You look like Ernest Hemingway." It wasn't the first time he heard it, but I said it before he knew it was coming, which must speak for something.

Ernest had been on vacation for a week, so I hadn't seen him around. A few of us welcomed him back by joining him for his favorite lunch at the Soup Plantation. I had the requisite salad, some chili and a bowl of chicken noodle soup. I think the Asian salad would've sufficed had I known there was chicken in it. It wasn't bad tasting either.

After we were sitting there, digesting our food, I mentioned I avoided eating wheat products but still had a few beers every now and then. Ernest spoke up. "You can never have enough beer," he said.

It was deep enough to silence our little table of four.

I then began to reminisce about one afternoon in Ellensburg, Washington, where me, Curt and Rick went out on the Snake River in Rick's boat with three cases of light beer. The day was hot and we proceeded to drink two of the cases of beer.

That's the funny thing about beer. You can just drink and drink it and never feel that one more wouldn't be such a good idea. One more is always a good idea when you're on a boat with the fellas and the air is hot and the water cool enough to make it all right again.

Of course, while you're in that water, you might as well release the pressure on your bladder. Ahhh, just like that. That's better. And if you're wondering what else you might do in the water, well, as Rick said it, "Fish do it." In fact, he proved it could be done about an hour later.

You make this plunge into the water about once every 5 beers or so. Rick got tired of climbing back in the boat and just plunked it out and let 'er go over the side. Frankly, I think he just enjoyed seeing how far it would go before bending down into the water.

"Used to be I could shoot for 10 feet with this thing," said Rick.

"Used to be your momma changed your diaper till you met your wife a couple years ago and she took over," said Curt.

Actually, he didn't say that, but up to this point, Curt had been pretty quiet, so I gave him a line.

It was getting later in the day and we still had a case of beer left. "You want any more, Curt?" asked Rick.

"Nah, I'm cool." And actually, he did say that.

"How 'bout you?"

I waved him off, so he started packing things up and we headed back to the boat launch area. We all sat in the truck after the boat was hitched and headed back to Rick's house in South Seattle when we started to smell something fierce. Actually, I can't smell, so it was left to Curt to bring it up.

"What the hell is that? Did you crap in your shorts, Rick?"

"Ah, shit! I did! I didn't take off my shorts! I knew something was wrong." He turned off the road, jumped out the truck and flung his shorts into the back of the truck. "Hey guys, I could use some help," he said, holding up a few cans of beer.

So, for the next 15 minutes, we proceeded to douse his fat ass with warm beer until it was clean and clear. That wasn't such a great way to end a pretty good day out in the boat, I'll tell you that much.

We all laughed when we got back to Rick's house and he explained to one of his sons that he crapped in the water but forgot to take off his pants first.

"Fuckin' fish do it, right Rick?" I said.

"Yeah, shut your fuckin' trap, you asshole. My kid's right here."

"Oh, sorry."