Posts Tagged ‘ride’
On the water boats at Silverwood, Fat Guy 1 and Fat Guy 2 (they’re brothers) are having quite a good time squirting each other with the water guns on the front of their mini-boats. Suddenly, Fat Guy 2’s trigger jams. Fat Guy 1 uses this to his advantage and douses Fat Guy 2 with water, showing no mercy. Well, Fat Guy 2 has had enough of Fat Guy 1’s shit. He jumps out of his boat into the five foot deep water and angrily marches over to Fat Guy 1’s boat. He climbs aboard.
Meanwhile, the boat attendant guy (Nathan ~ nervous, skinny white kid whose Silverwood uniform looks like it could use a few more Nathans) is yelling from the docks at Fat Guy 1. ”Sir, you can’t do that sir. Sir, please get back in yer own boat. SIR!” Fat Guy 1 and Fat Guy 2 are now fighting. They throw punches and wrestle close to two minutes, all in slow-motion. Finally, Fat Guy 2 prevails and Fat Guy 1 is knocked into the water. Dripping, with water droplets coming off the ends of his hair (like those Gatorade commercials), Fat Guy 2 lets out a loud roar towards the sky while beating on his chest. He then pops Fat Guy 1’s water boat with his camouflage knife and swims towards the docks. Once he gets to the docks, he pulls his zipper down and pees in the water, unavoidable to swim around to an incoming Fat Guy 1.
These dirty headlights taunt the pavement in a kaleidoscope of rusty symmetry and double-tone white. I half-heartedly reach for the brake pedal, but come up short on purpose. It seems to have disappeared among the carpet fibers anyway, leaving me no choice beyond the gas. Of course I punch it. And why the fuck not? My toes tense up with fury and intangible amounts of adrenaline. A caged animal stuck somewhere between adventure and panic. The rush is indescribable. I launch forward now, my head pinned against the defenseless headrest. No need for ambition on this trip, the speedometer’s fully equipped. The ride is rough, yet rough is mind-blowing at this point. Sexual innuendos have me pressing play on my funny bones tonight, an array of “ha’s” and “he’s” escaping in self-satisfying secrecy. Feels good to lack restriction. Puts me in an open ball-pit that sets fire to free spirit and settles for nothing less. Take that, Mr. Responsibility. I don’t need you anymore. I’ve got it all right here. Flying solo again, minus the fancy wings and fears of failure.