Harassing The Crocs
This post could easily have been entitled, "You Know You're In Florida When..." and filled in with whatever comical crocodile reference you wished. 'Cause just thinking of crocs is funny. Not these crocs below, though I grant you, those are funny as in "ludicrous ridiculous pathetic" funny.
I give you, exhibit A. And exhibit W.
I mean, Jack, yes. He's so gone on coke most of the time, he probably doesn't know who dresses him, let alone what his feet are shod in. But the President of the Freaking United States?!
Oh, right. Moving on.
As you can see, we take our long, scaly lizards very seriously here in the State of Florida.
Gone are the days when Janet Reno's mother used to 'rassle' gators in the Redlands, near Homestead, and then host her biddy friends for afternoon tea (no, really, she did. Reno tells the story during the rubber chicken circuits). If anyone outside of the Miccosukee tribe tried that now, they'd be hauled away, Elian-style.
I suppose it's a comfort to know that officialdom are looking out for the crocs, and are adamant no one should molest them, to use the Spanish term. I'm not sure how anyone could without serious bodily harm coming to them, but there we are.
This was taken way over in Pinecrest, where crocs are seen everywhere -- as Fendi handbags.