CLARENCE DIES IN TRAGIC DOGPADDLING MISHAP
Contaminated Wine Vat Drained and Destroyed

Clarence's express ride to Hell began when he got released last month.  Soon as he was out, Clarence hopped a city transit bus home to Tinbox Acres. He promptly got into his monster truck and headed to the market on the corner for a 12-pack of Busch or Pabst or whatever cheap beer he found on sale.  

Clarence returned from the market with his 18-pack of Meister Brau from a
Buy-Two Get-One-FREE sale. Then he set there in space #62 and drank all that beer his ownself. Clarence hadn't drank in months 'cause he was locked up, but them 18 beers was STILL just a teaser to that old alkie.  Then a ad came on TV for that winery down the road. The ad said it was only five bucks to get in.

Now, if y'all don't know about the winery, it's 'cause you never got past the bar at Buzzards. But if you go ahead and pass Buzzards and keep going about 15 miles down the road, you'll come to a real winery with vats and vats and vats of wine.

They have this tour at the winery. During the whole tour, these froot-loopy looking guys keep refilling your glass with different wines. They keep on refilling, too, no matter how much you suck down. It's a real guzzle-o-rama, only they don't call it that. It's called a "wine-tasting tour," and it's like a drink-til-you-drop smorgasbord.

Old Clarence might have been hammered flat, but he wasn't too hammered to figure out that he didn't want to get pulled over again for driving shitfaced. Even though most of his brain cells was pickled beyond all recognition, Clarence figured out through his many contacts with the police that the first thing that tips the cops off to his condition is a odor of a alcoholic beverage emitting from his breath and person.

After he drank that whole 18-pack of Meister Braus and before he got into that monster truck to head for the winery, Clarence ate himself a whole tin of Altoids. It was the cinnamon-flavored ones. But he didn't die of Altoid poisoning.

Although Clarence was fairly polluted on cheap beer when he got behind the wheel, he didn't crash and burn his truck. He did lock horns with the cops over that busted taillight of his, but the cops didn't kill Clarence neither.

The cops had pulled Clarence over. Since he ate all them cinnamon Altoids, the smell of alcohol emitting from his breath and person was masked by all them industrial-strength cinnamony fumes.

Clarence squeaked out of getting hauled in for drunk driving that time. All he got was a fix-it ticket for that busted taillight and a warning not to sign his name as "Stormin' Norman Schwarzkopf" on fix-it tickets no more.

Upon arrival to the winery, Clarence paid his five bucks for the tour. He was given a sticky-backed name badge and a pen, so Clarence wrote "Stormin' Norman Schwarzkopf" on the name badge and affixed it to his shirt. Then he proceeded on the tour, sampling the many burgundy, red, rose, and white wines for the next 20 minutes or so. Then the tour group got to the Vat Room.

Clarence seen all them wine vats all full to the tippity-top with wine, and he freaked. He screamed, "Yeeeee-haaaaw!" and bolted from the rest of the herd (oops I mean tour) and raced toward all them vats, ripping his clothes off and firing buttons everywhere as he ran.

There was this one huge wine vat with a ladder up the side. Before you could scream, "Stormin' Norman Schwarzkopf, get your ass down off that vat ladder right fucking NOW!" Clarence toppled headfirst into the vat.

Despite the efforts of the winery staff, Clarence was a goner. All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't pull Clarence out of that wine vat. He drowned at 1730 hours, according to the police report. That means 5:30 pm in English.  

Clarence didn't die without a fight, though.  He left scratches and bruises and pump-knots all over them winery workers who tried pulling him out.  Clarence crawled out of the vat three times before his untimely demise to take a piss. On his way back from the bathroom, nobody who got between him and that wine was left standing.

Clarence will certainly be missed by all his neighbors here at Tinbox Acres. And you can bet the farm on it that Clarence will be sorely missed by whoever types our police reports. The cops and the winery staff, on the other hand, ain't gonna miss that old alkie one bit.  

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