After his trip to Orlando, Le Clown decided to continue his adventures as a Snowbird and meet up with Transman in the Sunshine State’s capital city. Unfortunately for Le Clown, a cold snap had arrived a day ahead of him.
“Can you get real coffee here?” Le Clown asked as they squeezed into Transman’s hamster-powered roller skate. Transman tried to joke about the vehicle being similar to a clown car, but Le Clown scowled and muttered something in French.
Undeterred, Transman set off for Craig’s Killer Coffee.
Shop owner Craig Madar set them up with some hot beverages. Transman had basic coffee from the thermos and splurged with a spoonful of Sugar in the Raw, but Le Clown had some kind of complicated thing that required lots of banging around, steam, milk, ice, sugar, cayenne pepper, and chocolate sauce. When Craig started to hand Le Clown a straw, Le Clown held up his hand in protest and said, “No, no. I carry my own; Merci.” Le Clown went to the car and got out a green case. With lots of fussing and clicking of locks, he opened the case and removed an emerald green straw.
They were coffeed-up and ready to go. Transman turned on the stereo and pulled into traffic.
Le Clown pointed out the window at a bikini-clad bald man pedaling along the side of the road and asked, “Is that George C. Scott?!”
“No, that’s ‘Thong Guy’,” Transman said. Richard Irby spends most of his days riding his bike along the busiest hilliest roads in town decked out in a thong, knee socks, and Velcro-closure tennis shoes. Unless there is frost on the ground. Then, he caves and puts on overalls … with no shirt.
Some call him the Bikini Bicyclist, and he pedals around town, greeting the cheers, jeers, stares, and photographers with the same gesture–Irby flashes a peace sign and keeps on going.
Since Le Clown had already gone alligator wrestling when he was in Orlando, Transman considered introducing him to some of the other swamp critters like water mocassins and snapping turtles, but decided they would be better off staying on dry land for a while. Sara would likely kill Transman if he lost her husband in quicksand or let him get eaten by an invasive species (lookin’ at you, pythons).
Transman turned the car west and headed into town … where they were greeted by the sight of the Capitol Complex, which is also home to a bunch of snakes:
Le Clown laughed at the giant phallic symbol in the middle of the road and raised his coffee cup to the protesters gathered on the front lawn with their “Honk for Peace” signs. The woman across the road with the “Jesus Saves” sign waved at them as they sped past. Unfortunately, the Satanists for Scott had already packed up and left town.
Transman had to stop by the university to drop off paperwork, so they drove around and around the parking garage for 45 minutes waiting for someone to leave so they could snag a spot.
As they entered the building, Le Clown looked all around near the doorway.
“What’s wrong?” Transman asked. “Did you lose something?”
“Where is the holy water?” Le Clown asked.
“Holy water?” Transman asked, confused.
“Isn’t this a church?” Le Clown said, pointing up at the stained glass windows and gold leaf on the walls.
“Well, we do worship football here, but no, this isn’t a church.”
After dropping off the paperwork (which took all of six minutes, including the ride in the elevator), Transman and Le Clown headed off on more adventures:
They got in trouble for that:
Needless to say, Le Clown was happy to go home.