Fat jolly looking gentleman joins us at the beach one day.
His wife pleasant and plump, winsome in her own way.
They make quite a pair in matching red swim suits
his enormous white beard, her old fashioned granny boots,
but no one pays attention—it’s a beautiful day—
after all—it’s the beach.

The day is balmy, sunny, warm and blue
sandwiches crisp, sand ready for castles, before us a perfect view.
The waves roll endlessly in the thrall of a gentle wind
that blows all cares away.

Well, me in my kerchief and Ma in her cap
are watching the children run this way and that.
Beach balls, horseshoes, frisbees and golf—
there’s all kind of stuff winging about.

I smile at the old couple, “Kids, what can you do?”
The old gent smiles, “You know … let me help with a few.”
Well, what happened next still fills me with fear,
‘cause when I jumped I musta spilt a 6 pack of beer.

The old guy, dressed in his red flannel swim suit
makes a toy gun of his fist, you know, forefinger points out,
thumb up, rest like this, and takes aims at a beach ball
sights over his thumb and goes, “BLAM!”

The beach ball explodes.
He cocks his thumb again and now that finger is pointing everywhere and
BLAM! kites fly away
BLAM! umbrellas unfold
BLAM! water wings take flight
BLAM! frisbees fricassee
BLAM! horseshoes take off at a gallop
BLAM! sandcastles catch fire
BLAM! whistling footballs screech ‘til they croak
BLAM! seadoos sink (scores of ’em)
BLAM! waterskiiers bounce along the water like skipping stones ’til out of sight
BLAM! beach noodles cook

THEN this red-suited white whiskered old gent holds up his forefinger,
trailing smoke, and say’s “Light me Mother”; his wife pops a big Havana in his mouth, holds his still burning finger to the cigar and kisses him,
passionately, on his jolly red cheeks as he starts to puff and chuff,
grinding as she kisses and whispers “Please Nicky— that’s enough.”

But the most frightening thing had yet to unfold:
my kids sat down for hours, and did what they were told … .
AND,
after that,
that couple never spoke to us again,
and we NEVER bothered them.

Mental note: no more cookies and milk,
the gentleman definitely requires something stronger.

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