no tan lines ...

i was trying to figure out how to hang button-up shirts on the clothes line today when i heard the neighbor's hammock creaking, a noise i've come to associate with the neighbor doing a rotisserie in order to bronze a different portion of his middle aged flesh. flesh that already resembles something you'd buy for $5.50 at the state fair, on a stick. a meal you chase by running pepto bismol through a beer bong.

i like to think he has a personal turkey thermometer wedged in his gut that pops when he needs to flip. i think he coats his hammock in a fog of pam.

sure enough, when i glanced down, he had moved to the grass. spread out a blanket and face planted in his backyard. he tugged at the back of his swim suit trunks to reveal ass cleavage, and tucked the bottoms into the waistband. it is a sort of makeshift animal print speedo.

he loves to tan. he loves to be as close to naked as possible. i think for the sake of convenience, this neighbor will henceforth be referred to as "ole coppertone." i encounter him almost every day in some capacity. even if its just listening to him whistle for his wife, or smelling the side of beef he's grilling. one night when it was blizzardy, chuck saw him pillaging the wood from his woodpile. coppertone was wearing just a pair of boxer shorts.

"whoa! i'm crazzzzzy!" coppertone said. "but check out my tan!"

today chuck came out on the deck and nodded silently at ole no-tank-lines and made a face like he had accidentally cleaned the toilet with his tongue. i nodded dramatically, mouthing "I KNOW!"

i think you're going to be hearing a lot about ole coppertone this summer.