2005-07-21 - 10:42 a.m.
Musings from my deck.
Sitting on my deck last night, finishing my 9:30 p.m gin and tonic, and realizing it was still 10 minutes away from my 9:45 Gin and Tonic, I had a few moments to gather some of my thoughts.
My friend Mike should not be upset that I offered to “assist” him in making his giant shark float for the boat parade.
You see, every year over at the lake, residents decorate their boats and cruise them along the lake in some giant suburban queer assed parade.
I’ve convinced him that “our” boat should tow behind it a giant killer shark complete with realistic red glowing eyes.
I try to enroll him in my vision. “We could even have giant, blood stained teeth.”
Mike seemed intrigued, but yet, hesitant. He mentions something about a family theme.
“Fine, we put some dorky kid in the shark’s mouth. He can thrash about and operate the blood pumps.”
“Blood pumps?”
“Hello. Spurting blood? You’re gonna need some pumps for that.” Christ. I don’t think he was following me.
I think I totally lost him when I drew a map of the lake and starting making statements “Here, when we turn into the cove and motor past the judges reviewing stand. That’s when we do it.” I stated matter-of-factly.
“Do it?”
“Yea, do it….you know…blow the shark up! Boom!” My hands gesturing wildly about, my beer spilt onto my blueprints.
“Here’s the kicker: The shark is filled with fish guts and chicken livers. Blamo! Ta –Da! We’d win First Place, buddy. Think about that: First Fucking Place.”
Mike frowned cautiously. “I dunno…what about the young child in the mouth? Explosions?”
I try to explain to him that it’s all about showmanship. Perhaps I came off as a bit condescending, I’m not sure. But when it comes to blowing up oversized fake sharks filled with fish guts, I am a Viking and you really shouldn’t question my vision, dickhead.
“Man, what are you? Some type of retarded dickhead? We’d be stupid not to do the exploding shark!” I think were my exact words.
I may, or may not have called him a pussy. I think I may have also given him a gentle dope slap across his forehead.
Sometimes brainstorming can get out of hand. It’s all part of the creative process.
Mike has not returned my calls in 4 days. I think he is frightened. Perhaps calling him a dickhead was uncalled for. I’m not sure. I make a mental note not to call people dickheads as often.
My lovely wife should be coming out of the house any moment with my drink. Where is she? I rattle the ice around my empty glass and stare at the stars.
I’ve also come to the conclusion that with the perfection of affordable high quality, realistic virtual porn, civilization will crumble.
I just hope I’m around to see it.
Still no drink. Damn it.
You know if I ever won bazillion dollars in the lottery I’d buy the Batmobile. Not one of the Batmobiles from the movies. They suck. But the original Batmobile from the 1966 TV show “Batman”. I’d drive it around town. I’d pick up hookers in it. I’d race it down the expressway giving people the finger. “Fuck you. I’m Batman, damn it”. I bet I could even put a tiny refrigerator in the trunk. The Bat Fridge. Cool.
I would not however, buy a batman costume, because that would just be stupid. But the bat phone on the dash would definitely need to work.
Yea, I need to buy a lottery ticket.
My lovely wife finally arrives with my 9:45 Gin and Tonic.
I think to myself that if I ever did win the lottery and did get that Batmobile, I should buy her a Catwoman costume. Yea. She’d like that.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks as she hands me my drink.
“Oh, our retirement” I say profoundly. She smiles. She trusts me.
I also realize that she should get back inside and start mixing up my 10:00 gin and tonic.
It was a good night.
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