Needs to Be a Video - Last Night -- Traveling Wilburys

Listen to the song, and then visualize this script:

Prelude and First verse:The song starts with The Hero singing at the bar, flashing back to The Hero selling 3 of 4 gold coins to Mr Big (Mr. Big wants all 4). The Lady is walking around the bar, until she comes up to the Hero and whispers in his ear. Orbison's second verse: The camera is pointed out the window to the party in the street, then pulls back to a romantic moment in the bedroom, and steam dripping onto the dresser mirror.

a Petty's third verse: set up next verse

a Orbison's fourth verse: the Lady pulls a knife on The Hero and wants the fourth coin.

a Fifth verse: the Hero is back at the bar, drinking a whiskey. He tosses the fourth coin to the bartender ("to pay for the mess"), and drives his motorcycle off into the sunset.

Song Ending: The bartender goes up to The Hero's room. The door is shut, and the bloody knife is sticking out of the door.

Fade out to the Hero driving into the sunset.

Vacation Fiction Day 4 -- You're Beautiful - James Blunt

When you reach my age, you start keeping track of the gas left in the tank, and you keep track of how long you have before needing the bathroom. I was driving I-65 north at 0-dark-30, and both were starting to hit the warning signs. Just as I passed the sign saying "Exit 57 return ramp is closed", the radio started playing "You're Beautiful". Great, my prostate's trying to do a fandango on my bladder, the next gas station is miles down the road, and I get to hear Mr. Millenial whine because he saw a pretty girl while stoned out of his head, and how they had a cosmic connection for five minutes. I almost threw up my Baconator.

Finally, there's a gas station, and I can pull in. Gas first, bathroom second. Yes, it was a mistake, but it sounded good at the time. I'm hurrying to pull up the mask and turning the corner to the bathrooms, barely noticing that there's no one in my way. After a few minutes in the restroom, I stop by the water cooler for another bottle, and the candy bin for cherry slices or orange slices. Then I look up.

I think I owe the idiot Blunt an apology. I looked up into the kindest, most gentle pair of eyes I have ever seen, and she smiled kindly to me. I couldn't tell you her name, what color her eyes were, or what she was wearing. I don't even know what city we were in. At that moment, all I could think is "Boy, she is beautiful.".

Then I paid my bill, told her "Thank you", and drove off into the night.

Vacation Fiction Day 3 - I Don't Care -- Darius Rucker and Brad Paisley

It's Saturday, 4PM on the beach, Spring Break week 3. I'm sitting on a chair near the water line, keeping warm and trying to soak up the last rays of sun before I have to leave and go home. The circus is in full force, and I'm not sure I want to come back.

Then I look to my left, and just stop.

I've seen a lot of strange sights involving alcohol. I've watched an old man wash a bucket of KFC down with Jack straight out of the bottle. I've seen thousand dollar wine and Mad Dog 20/20, and never seen either help their owners. This young man took them all.

He was walking down the beach at the slow, rolling gait of someone one drink away from holding the ground with both hands to keep from falling off. One sandal had survived the exercise, but the other was gone to the wind. He was carrying the dregs of a $10 plastic gallon of cheap scotch in one hand, but his precious treasure was in the other hand.

He was dragging a white plastic card table like it was a pirate's chest. Three of the legs were gone, and every usable surface of the top and bottom were covered with Sharpie signatures. He must have spent all week partying and collecting names. Now he was almost out of time, almost out of whiskey, and almost out of places to sign, but he wasn't quite done yet.

I watched him heading down the island towards Mobile, dragging his prized possessions off to his next destination.

Vacation Fiction Day 2 -- When The Coast Is Clear -- Jimmy Buffett

George loved Orange Beach, and he hated crowds. Vacations were such sweet torture. Nearly every inch of beach at Orange Beach had high rise condos, so the ocean beaches stayed covered in people year round. If he had liked Gulf Shores, he could have at least gone to the part of the island that was only houses, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't Orange Beach.

Then George's chance came. The Chinese took a page from the Russian book: if you can't come up with the technology yourself, steal it from the Americans. If there was a man from whom one could steal a super-virus, it was George. His work on engineering viruses for cancer treatment was the best in the world, and the easiest to weaponize. When the CIA found out that the Chinese wanted it, they asked George to help them give the Chinese broken information. The Chinese were barely able to make something infectious before they accidentally released the virus in Wuhan.

Of course George got the call when the US started making a vaccine, and that's when his plan could go into motion. His vaccine introduced a small gene into the population that made you vulnerable to the next virus. Three months later, George made a few plane trips...

George looked out across the white, empty sand. The manditory evacuation orders had sent the tourists running, and most residents had left or died at home as well. This pesky raspy cough and shortness of breath was an annoyance, but he had plenty of time to deal with that. The coast was clear, after all.

Vacation Fiction Day 1 -- It's Five O'Clock Somewhere -- Alan Jackson and Jimmy Buffett

I've seen the same four walls for 93 days straight. My wife is one room over, fighting with her boss over a report that no one will ever read about a product no one will ever buy. The kids have finished what they're pretending is school these days, and they were fussing about whether to watch Disney or PBS.

It wouldn't take much to open that box hidden in my underwear pile and simply lubricate this problem away. I'm not an alcoholic, after all, haven't had much of anything to drink since college. It was always more fun to watch the other idiots get drunk than spend the next morning hugging the toilet myself.

Nah. Alan does have a point; I think I need a vacation, and now's just as good as a time as any. Click on Skype here, and send the boss "Feeling sick; need to take the rest of the day off". I close the laptop before he can respond.

"Kids, grab a basketball and your mother, and let's go up to the park"