A dispatch from Ted. He’s was in Minnesota, and apparently had a run-in with the rich and famous.
I forgot to mention, and for those *ahem*, Hardcore Dems and Republicans
out there, I ran into Mr. Jesse Ventura -twice- coming back from the
Run In 1: Ted Learns Wrestlers Like Candy, Too
Location: Minneapolis/St. Paul International (I guess Canada -does-
count as its own nation, doesn’t it?) Airport.
Time: Roughly 1:00 PM Central.
I’d just seen a brief news bit detailing “What’s He Up To Now!?” segment
the night before. Jesse, The Body, is doing well and has decided to
braid his beard. I took note of this not realizing that preternatural
forces were at work.
We in the airport, and I decide I want to run into a newsstand type shop
for the latest MacAddict and some candy. While browsing the candy, I
look over and its first an earing, and then an oddly braided beard that
catches my eye.
“Self,” said I, “That looks familiar…HOLY CRAP!”
My realization was confirmed when a few feet away The Wife bellows, “Hey
Jesse! Are you going to want to put this in your bag?” To which he
responded, gruffly, “No.”
Leaping across the room, I pointed him out to Monica who was…less then
enthused that the former Minnesota Gov and more importantly, one of
Hulk’s bitter rivals. Somebody wasn’t a Little Hulkster when -she- was
growing up, brother. Sensing where my loyalties truly lay, Jesse ‘The
Body’ Ventura flees and vanishes into the terminal.
Run In 2: Ted Gets the Drop On The Body, Meeting Out Sweet, Sweet
Hulkster Vengeance and Living to Tell the Tale
Location: T.F. Green Airport, Providence (which is actually in Warwick,
but why nitpick).
Time: Aprox. 5:45 PM Eastern
We’ve landed and are off the plane, and down into the baggage claim
With my catlike reflexes and finely honed (literally, by a laser)
vision, I spy and snatch our largest and heaviest bag as it attempts to
make a run for freedome with its brethren on the Carousel of False Hope.
Executing a deft Snatch, Grab and Spin technique, I haul the heavy
luggage off the belt and swing it around, to fully claim and deposit it
with our others.
Only to nail Mr. Ventura neatly, and solidly in his right knee.
Let me go on record by saying that he is a mountain of a man, with
startling blue eyes. He was also munching on an unlit but mostly smoked
cigar in one corner of his mouth. Jewelry dangled freely about his
person, the braided beard that had become his trademark swung defiantly
in the air in response to my blow.
“Shit,” thought I. “Hulk never said it’d be like this.” And the prospect
of sacrificing my dignity and screeching like a schoolgirl in order to
save at least a pint or two of precious blood, suddenly seemed a little
My apologies, powered with a previously unknown celerity and sincerity,
were met with a guttural mutter, and a steely glare.
“Jesse! Get over here and help me with this bag!” called his wife.
Muttering, Jesse Ventura turned away from the pain that awaited him, and
fled the cruel, cruel fate that I had in store for this beast called The
The bruised knuckles he surely would have sustained while pounding me,
now made a thing of hypothetic fancy by a damsel in need.
Then I too turned and went on my own way. Two warriors. Two separate
paths. Two different sets of matching luggage.