My Bum is on the Swedish

It looks like the voice of my favorite Big Cat breakfast logo is dead. Thurl Ravenscroft is no more. I know, I know. With a name like Thurl Ravenscroft, hiding behind the face of a bandana-wearing, spoon-wielding beast should not have been his first career choice. And who knows? Perhaps it was not. Perhaps he realized at the tender age of twenty-six that there just isn't much going on around the Spanish Main anymore... or at least that the prevailing south-weaterly winds in the Caribbean make it difficult for square-rigged ships to outrun 700-horsepower Miami Vice boats. It's gotta be one or the other.

And speaking of Miami Vice, when was the last time you put on a lavender blazer and rolled the sleeves up? When was the last time you busted Enrique for having eighty-four metric tons of cocaine in a semi, pontificated on the evils of drug use, and then brought several kilos back to your oceanside bungalow to sample in the presence of the Swedish Bikini Team? (Side note: ever since I saw the Swedish Bikini Team in a beer commercial when I was in elementary school, I've wondered in what sense these people are a team. Are there competitions? Since they get to be the Swedish Bikini Team, is there state sponsorship involved? Burning questions that must be answered.) If you have not done these things recently -- particularly the sampling of confiscated cocaine -- then you must do so soon. You'll thank me in the end.