You know what me and ol’ Ernie Hemmingway have in common?  Besides drinking?  We both spent sometime in Key West.

Ernest moved there to fish, drink, write and raise six-toed cats. I moved there to  lead the Duval Pub Crawl a few years back.  So I moved there to drink too.  The similarities with me and EH are staggering.

All my buddies and a couple of ex-wives was wondering why I came back. The long and short of it is, I got run out of town after a few weeks by a woman named Louise Carpwaller.

She was my girlfriend for a few weeks. The problem is Louise was a fourth level bunny boiler.

Louise was crazier than a rat in a coffee can.  The dangerous kind of crazy that hides until you least expect it.  For instance, we were at the grocery store in the meat section this one time.  I was minding my own business, checking out the price of the pigs feet when all the sudden a frozen chicken comes flying out of nowhere and knocks me upside the noggin.

I looked at Louise and yelled, “What the heck was that for?”   She claims it was because I was staring at the woman who works in produce.  Well, hells bells, the woman in produce looks just like Ernest Borgnine with long blonde hair! Everyone was staring.

She was just too jealous.  One time, I was leading the Saturday night pub crawl when a couple of recently divorced school teachers from Washington state got a little crazy and showed everyone their Walla Wallas.

And yes, I looked.  It is my job as a local source of information to the tourists.  Someone might want to know details.  It was my duty.  They wasn’t even that great.  One looked like a fried egg on a nail and the other was pointing due west.  And that was just ONE of the women!  The other woman was kind of disgusting.

Well, what I didn’t know is that Louise is in Margaritaville having about 1 or 7 Landsharks  and watching me doing my research out on the sidewalk.  El Psycho grabs a steak knife and chases me up and down Duval  trying to perform the procedure now known as “The Bobbitt” on me.

I dove head first into the Love Turtle (My 1981 AMC Pacer) and floored it all the way back to Arkansas.