Think Big!!

Miami International Airport.

Bags deposited - Beer in hand - Ipod on, and Ian Brown is still searching for his star.

I've just returned from a week working on Sanibel Island. Where? You may well ask. Sanibel Island a euphemism for 'The village of the Dammend'. A place affluent leather hide Floridians await the Reaper and bemoan the youth, a bit like Eastbourne I suspect. I've been working in underground storage tanks and sharing Bud Light with a man mountain named Jessie.
Bud Light, what the f$%k!! invented for the image conscious bagman.

The T.V I've seen whilst here is depressing, worse even than Channel 5 or BBC 3, yes, that bad. I wish one of the electrical storms would strike the T.V Station. Everyone has a 4 wheel drive, the roads are like Kirea Knightly's chest, but you 'gotta have a Truck, man'.

Sunday, a day of rest. Jessie was taking his 'friend' back home to Tampa, so I played Gooseberry. The 'ride' bounced along to the sound of over produced 80's Soul, Jessie and his 'friend' holding hands while I to their astonishment, named them all, Losse Ends, Luther Vandross etc, (its not a talent I'm particularly proud of).

I wished Jessie's 'friend' goodbye and stayed in the 'ride'. On his return Jessie informed me we would nip round and see his Wife Twanda!!!! this was on top his Latino Girlfriend who would ring confessing undying love, five minutes after promising to deprive him of his obviously, over active, manhood.

We arrived in a neighboorhood named Temple Terrace, means nothing to me either. I was introduced to Twanda, her parents and numerous branches of the family. Before you could say pass me the wrench, I was under Jessie's father-in-law's sink with a wire coat hanger in hand, attempting to remove a blockage.

My Boss had sold this trip to me and I quote as a 'Shagger', it was then I realised I'd well and truly been rogered. Blockage removed, Corn bread, Pork and Greens followed, we headed back to the village of the dammed, and another day in the underground fuel storage tanks.

Ian Brown has been succeded by Mel Thome's "I'm coming home, Baby" as I wander through the departure lounge aware that any more alcohol and I will be asleep before the safety demonstration. Spinning the book carousel its the defying hairstyle that catches my attention.

Donald Trump - Think Big.

Maybe it's something to do with full fat Bud coursing my veins,

Think Big, I rage, Think f%^king Big, its Trump and his big thinking advocates that has got us in this mess. Go Large, Supersize, set Big Hairy Goals.

I want to scream, Stop and think! It's not about Bling, the speed of your Internet connection, or the size of you Plasma. It's not the energy pills on sale in the 7-11, the botox or working it at the Gym. Life shouldn't be extremes, higher peaks = deeper pits to climb out of.

Think what's important! Big has greater impact, needs additional sustenance. Big is a waist size that exceeds your IQ, that's taking it to the Max, add the extra toppings, after all, "You're worth it"

You're worth what? You've done what? You derseve nothing!

Thinking Big means more for few, 5 loaves won't feed us, 5 loaves is a breakfast to some. Ball park figures, touching base, you gotta be reading from the same hymn sheet.

F%$k the hymn sheet, don't be scared of a different song, learn to sing it. Understand the importance of diversity, don't just Think Big, just Think!