An Arctic Outbreak had brought snow to the magical Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa. The Avalanche and Rescue Team met in the conference room. Not even the Face of Everyman could remember where they had stored their equipment at the end of last season.
It was prime time NFL Sunday football. the Face of Everyman was torn as to how to wager. This era he was a SeaHawk fan. In 20 million years he would be in 49er territory. He wagers were part of his “permanent record”. Could he then pass himself off as a ’49er gold seeker? Would it matter to his critics that he was a founding father of “E Clampus Vitus?” He hedged and phoned in a second bet using his street name: Black Rock.
With the New Year approaching folks in the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa had an eye on the future. Concerned clients wanted a new horoscope cast for the year 2020. With the number of requests he had been receiving the Face of Everyman was glad that he had given up using fresh chicken entrails. The alignment of the stars offered a much cleaner and more readable casting.
An atmospheric river inundated the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa. The local Medical Examiner stopped by to check on the venerable sage. His assessment of the situation caused him to ask if he could notify any next of kin. This flustered the Face of Everyman so much that he nearly leaped out of the water to strangle the meddlesome sawbones.
A specter appeared in the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa; was this the angel of death? the Face of Everyman interpreted this fleeting vision as no more than a confused guest flying too close to the security camera. There had been no recent reports of untimely deaths. Had there?
As dawn broke over the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa the early birds got a gut wrenching view of the Face of Everyman torn from his moorings by May Day activist. This vandalism was clearly the work of those Raccoons who seemed to have no steady employment. The heavy lift cranes had been called in to right this wrong.
Dawn came and Ronnie was still trying to tell the Face of Everyman how life was so unfair. There was less and less good garbage to be had in the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa or the near by village. First it was Disposals, then composters, then locking lids on curbside cans. Dumpster Diving just isn’t what it was like in the old days. Ronnie could remember stories his grandfather used to tell of knocking over garbage cans in town and strewing the fermenting mess up and down the alleyways. The venerable sage could only nod; all the while computing Pi to the Nth decimal in his head to help relieve his boredom.