Bubba Ray\'s Toilet Bowl Adventures, PART DEUCE!! Hey boys and girls, felons and do-gooders, dawgs, cats and other wildlife, it's time to utterly astound y'all with another episode of "Bubba Ray's Toilet Bowl Adventures." So kick back, pop the top of a cool one cause this is about to get heavy. So there I was......... BlazerFest 3, in the hollowed hills of Hollister, Kaliforny, People's Republic of. The day had been long and dirty. I had witnessed the carnage of Chaz on the rocks and the Lost Boyz of Lupine. I had utilized words that my momma would of slapped me for during my transfer case problems; I hadn't got any sleep the night before due to the constant harassment of the Pig Cong. 1979 Jimmy had arrived with a donated keg of cold liquid refreshment from LiftedAssDodge. The two of us had unloaded this behomoth of metal and on this particular Saturday night, I, Bubba Ray Boudreaux had made the pact with myself that if I came out of Blazerfest with the title of ultimate "Wheeling Poser," I was gonna do it by doing my part to make sure 1979Jimmy would be a little lighter load wise. The congregation had gathered together to listen to gokartergo announce the winners of the raffle. Myself, I had volunteered my extreme lacking journalism skills for coverage. While gokartergo made people happy, I sat in the back busily typing the names of the winners on my poser laptop. Deep into the night as gokartergo continued on, the call of nature beckoned. "Bubba Ray, your urinal material containment device is full, so go take a &%$#%^& leak you loser!" So during a lull in the action, me being fleet of foot, raced to the little lad's room. I'm standing there over the human bodily waste disposal machine with the valve wide open when all of a sudden like, my special, one-of-a-kind custom combat $10 Oakley sunglasses left the security of my t-shirt collar and into the whipping whirlpool action of the john. I'm standing thinking, "This is rad dude. My glasses are going for a ride." Then I had the flashback to the multi-dollar Nextel radio that went on the same ride. Then the scientific material makeup difference of glasses and a radio hit me. My sunglasses might go all the way downtown. So with my special kung-fu grip right arm, I summoned the power of Greyskull and with reflexes of a cat, the hand shot down into the whirling death trap. The rescue was made once again. I continued on at my duty station at the laptop keyboard and finished the winners' list without further incident. Epilogue: It has come to my attention that in the category of "Kicking toilet bowl a**," I have become a legend in my own mind. Would it be wrong to have the "kills" signified like the fighter pilot aces did and have toilet bowls tattoed on my right arm? Or am I just being too cocky for my own good?