“The American Republic will endure until the day Congress discovers that it can bribe the public with the public’s money.” - Alexis de Tocqueville
Eric the Red
Yes, boys and girls, time for me to reprise that oft-repeated story of the infancy of the now venerable Cod. Those of you who know this tale, just ignore this as you ignore him. However, before I start, here's a gentle reminder that Fishlips begins the last year of his Screamin' Forties this weekend....a word to the wise et al.
Anyway, as was their custom established over the years, Mr. and Mrs. Barnatt were planning their annual clambake and fishfry. Now this is decades ago and things are different now. But anyway, each year, the ol' jarhead and the (still) lovely Ruth would invite all their friends over to the house somewhere SE of Worcester for a late spring feast of assorted seafoods.
To prepare for this, Mr. B had ordered lots of fresh catch from his local fishmonger. The day before the event, off he went to pick up the order. There were crates of clams and lobsters and big packages of fresh fish fillets. Early corn, some chorizo, and spuds. He even agreed to take 20 pounds of mussels from the shopkeeper since, in those earl;y days, mussels were freebies.
Arriving home, he stored the victuals in the garage where they would stay cool whilst he finished the pit, loaded it up with round rocks and slab wood, and set it ablaze. That fire would burn all night producing white hot rocks that, the next day, would be the source of great cooking heat.
Meanwhile, Ruth set to sorting through the foodstuffs and adding ice to the keg of Schmidt's beer.
"Come quick!", she exclaimed to her hubby.
For there in a crate of fresh flounder fillets, wrapped in swaddling kelp and grape seaweed, was an infant boy.
Dear reader, I need not bother with what excitement this caused as anything your fertile imagination could create would be like a mere pimple on the hindquarter of our favorite resident of So. Dennis compared to what really ensued. Needless to say, the babe was examined thoroughly, it was determined that, cleverly and ironically, a bris had been performed by some lobster or other shellfish, and, overall, the kid was evolving rapidly from a gill breather to a small version of what we know today...a slackjawed mouthbreather.
Ruth's motherly instincts accelerated faster than ....well Imhof on his best day. Allowing no arguments, she claimed the tyke for her own and maintains that stance to this very day.
Basically that's it although I might note that the Barnatt's soon discovered that the infant would only drink Mott's clam juice at first and that, because of his time in the crate, a nasty and stubborn set of barnacles had formed on his rear, which, though dimpled and kinda cute, seemed somewhat oversized for his frame.
Now you newbies know the core of the legend of the beginnings of the Slimey One. I am always amazed that the lad survived, there must be a blowfish in his family coral reef somewhere but, heck, it will be his birthday soon, we can be a bit tolerant and offer the greetings of the day. I just wonder whatever happened to that prehensile dorsal nubbie thing on his back......
Well that explains a lot -
But now I'm curious about ol' man Secco's knowledge and seeming delight that "barnacles had formed on his rear, which, though dimpled and kinda cute, seemed somewhat oversized for his frame."
And his whistful memory of Cod's "prehensile dorsal nubbie thing."
And they say I have issues!
“The American Republic will endure until the day Congress discovers that it can bribe the public with the public’s money.” - Alexis de Tocqueville
Eric the Red
OSMC IN THE CLOUDS UPDATE!
we'll be leaving the Loon Parking lot at 11:00 sharp, it's approximately 1hr and 15 min. drive. I'm not sure where we'll stop on the way,(for lunch supplies) but i'm sure we can find something. We'll time it so we can be back at Mt Washington by 3-4:00, so bring what you'll need for that evening also, there may not be enough time to run back to the hotel.
Pete, let's make sure we arrange for a suitable space for Cloudy MINIs in the Loon lot, so you can all leave at 11 easily. If we don't catch the details Friday night, look for me or another lot guru Saturday morning at Loon. An approximate head count would be helpful.
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How can you be in two places at once, when you're not anywhere at all ? 
, And on a quest to Right Secco's Wrongs 
Lawdy, Lawdy, the Cross I bear. 
