***Being a continuation of the debunking of GrouchyOldMan's Journal of Lies, in which it is made clear that neither honor nor justice have ever crossed the mind of a sailor-pirate on a smear campaign. (continued, like I said before)***

Thursday dawned ugly, at dawn, like a baby being born to a bitch in the back of a barn. There was lots of screaming. The night before Bill had gotten us pretty blasted saluting his Neoconservative Brotherhood of Grim and we hadn't really passed out until almost 6am, which is about when that whole Dawn thing I was talking about got started. It was early. The neighborhood surrounding the cottage was apparently filled with retirees with one foot in the grave who were hell bent on gardening. The lawnmowers and leaf-blowers got fired up around 7 and were soon backed up by power washers and one guy with a motorcycle that seemed to be running his vacuum cleaner. By 9am there was no point, we braced ourselves for another day - secured in the promise of our return flight and that there was always alcohol.

Bill arrived at noon, he was still driving the same whatever car. Maybe a Kia or something from Europe, but not the parts of Europe where they speak English if you know what I mean. We tried to keep straight faces and piled in for the inevitable tour of the irrelevant surrounding area.

It was about what we expected, really. There were trees and houses and dogs and the usual. Bill seemed to still be drunk and that was fine with us. Dr. Berens dozed off in the back seat, Sally sat next to him and carefully slipped earphones in and listened to her mp3 player. I had to sit in front with Bill. Guest of Honor yea right.

Four hours later we were still less than three miles from the cottage. Between back-streets, sidewalks and every quarter-mile gravel path that dead-ended into the Ocean we'd seen it all ... and heard it all. Apparently three thousand years ago somebody had fought a war somewhere around here and somebody else still cared. Bill also kept pointing at the sailboats in the ocean and harbor. I guess he'd never noticed them before or something. I played along for the most part, trying to keep track of whether this was the beginning or the end of a story and in my head began planning what I would do first when I got back home Sunday night.

Bill dropped us off at the cottage around 5pm. He had to go to a meeting to stop poor people from voting or maybe he wanted to go back and give those boats a closer look. Whatever. We immediately packed our bags and drove to Boston. We stayed at the W there, a pretty ritzy downtown joint. We let the day melt away. We didn't have to be back at Bill's until 10:30am, for some kind of 'aqua-experience' he kept hinting at.

I think seeing those boats really fucked him up.

-still Ryan

PS Sally says she wants you guys to know this is not her version of the story. She seems pissed, reading this. I think she might really let Bill have it later.