Happy birthday Rye
One cold December night back in '72. Old Frosty was hollowing up a storm. The windows were creaking, the wind was whistling. With a trusty pull of the snowmobile cord. Dig Dug was on route to the Woodstock facility. Hunger jumped in, with a quick pit pause for pickled eggs and tea they were on their way. Over drifts and frozen lakes they flew. Bound, the wee one wanted out.
Pitter, Patter, bing bang boom the ski-doo stalled! Out of Petrol, with out skipping a beat. Diggy called on the flask... with roaring engines and flashing lights they arrived. Doctor Dude readied his mit. One out, one strike on the bottom, and safe at first....
And now you know the rest of the story..
Come on What do you think Ry means? Of course that is how he got his name.
He wasn't named after Orion, He wasn't named after Rye bread, Rye only referred to Gypsy from 1850-55. Back in '72 he was named for the whiskey.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY RYE : )
5 comments:
I'd swear you had access to shrooms or LSD, but I know you don't.
verbal gymnastics indeed! thanks kevlar!
Whoosh,gurgle, chortle, Old Bongy "hollowed up" your brain.
everything is true except for the pickled eggs. and the ski doo. ours never started. pickled eggs make you fart.
Some lite-beers, and Ry sending me three sms messages. "Do you know what your name means?". My sense of humor is a bit bent, but it ain't broke.
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