Float Trip 2010

Nature beholds the treasures of the world. It bestows upon the humble man a true miraculous beauty that is one of a kind and a millions of centuries in the making. Exploring the untamed landscapes along the rivers of a remote southern Missouri town is a great way to escape the pressing responsibilities of adulthood and dense polluted cities where one works. And what better way to indulge in Earth’s glory than doing so under the influence of one of nature’s other great gifts: alcohol.

The day before the float typically starts off the same. Drinking while playing washers, setting up tents, etc. These things are really just regulatory preface to the critical tailspin that persists throughout the evening. No matter how much one tries to limit themselves the night before an early morning float, most everyone drinks too much. It is inevitable, excitement overcomes one’s will power with the anticipation of the events to come. Around dusk things really escalated.

In a very serious and genuine attempt to fully embody and respect the typical backwood’s floater, one very enthusiastic patron of America brought Ed Hardy temporary tatoos. A better testament to the respect of our forefathers and freedoms, I cannot imagine, than a temporary tatoo of a lavish stylized butterfly on the shaft of my friend’s penis. I didn’t even know that the male genitalia would take temporary tatoo’s until that day, lo and behold a little water and a firm application would result in such an awesome personification of the youth of America. Such grace. Such nationalistic fortitude. And for that I salute my close friend, his name repectively withheld for obvious reasons.

The exposing of genitalia wouldn’t stop there. Nor would the drinking. Things came to a sloppy halt near 4:30 in the morning. Not to mention the beer drinking during tent set up was more than likely to blame for the location of our sleeping space, somehow situated over jagged rocks and gravel. Have you ever tried to sleep with a pointed rock wedged up your ass, the only protection being a thin layer of tent canvas and a cotton sleeping bag covered in creek water and spilt beer? It is pretty hard. Pun. Intended. Bitch.

Wake up to a groggy stinky pile of guys in the tent, aching from dehydration and the sleeping arrangement. Seems like a few years prior sleeping on rocks wouldn’t have bothered me. And though i slept soundly through the night with the aid of whiskey, my body now contested to the merits of such a decision. The start of the float trip is always more fun when your faculties are dulled, anyhow.

The float trip itself was awesome. With 80’s music blaring we made our way down river in a fleet of sheer drunkenness. We lost an entire bag of Dorritos, which the fish helped themselves to. One lucky floater even got smacked in the face with an oar by another’s drunken alter-ego. We always start the float united, and somehow get all discombobulated and completely separated from the rest of the group. As my raft drifted away from me I ran to catch-up, cursing the people who would not slow down. I ran and ran, and grabbed giant clumps full of river weed to sling at them and finally made it back to the boat in a heap and passed out.

*Time Passes, Memory Fades*

I woke with a start as our raft came to a stop. Someone found a place to jump off, I decided in my state that it was a bad idea. I then soaked in my surroundings, quite literally. I was wedged in the back crevasse of the boat, ass deep in what appeared to be a mixture of beer, creek water, and my own urine. I stand and immediately fall out of the boat. I try to stand but the water’s current and my motor skills complete failure cause me to fall. Repeatedly. I must have looked like a new born baby giraffe, because my friends came to my rescue. Their definition of rescue is to drag my PBRlogged body through 2 feet of water as the river’s bottom tore my back apart. Of course at the time I did not protest – but later the bruises and scratches that covered my back were evidence that I probably should have. And I somehow misplaced a full sized cooler. To this day I have no idea where it floated off to. Back at the campfire people huddled around the fire, broken and exhausted. By 8 PM most people were passing out in their lawn chairs. After I helped myself to a few half cooked half frozen campfire treats, I scampered off to the tent I knew contained an air mattress and passed out. Halfway through the night, the owners of the air mattress found me, but because of the darkness thought I was someone else – so I stayed and hogged up the whole mattress.

Nature. If you were there – Please feel free to comment on this post and add anything I might have missed in my hazy drunken recollection. Bangarang!

Flashback: Accident Prone at a 4th Grade Birthday Party

This is a story of something that happened to me when I was in 4th grade. I was recently reminded of this repressed memory, so I thought I would share it with whoever the hell is reading this disgusting blog; I’m sure you will enjoy.

I want to paint a picture for you. The year was 1998, I think. I was invited to a fellow pupil’s birthday party at Tee Time ( Assuming the role of the entertaining funny chubby kid – I have been fat since birth ). If you are not familiar with the venue, it has miniature golf, go carts, batting cages, and the like. I was coming from a soccer game, so excited about the event that I was still sporting my uniform. Miniature golf!

In my little 4th grade brain, it hadn’t occurred to me that I was guzzling bottles of water at the game, seeing as though I was grossly out of shape and frighteningly sweaty ( Remember, fat since birth ). Halfway through my game of putt-putt, I felt the overwhelming urge to urinate.

*I would like to preface the rest of the story with a few comments. I was young and naive, and looking back, none of what follows makes any logical sense. I was a victim of careless chaperones and my own inability to make rational decisions in times that call for them*

Approaching the 7th hole, I asked the birthday boy’s dad where the bathroom was. He simply replied, “There are no bathrooms here.” Hmm. “Can we ask someone, I really have to go.” “Just hurry up and finish your game of golf, we are heading back to the house for cake in a little bit.” Even as a young’n I knew I was in serious trouble. I tried to hurry through my game, but when I got to the 11th hole, all hell broke loose.

I blame the damn elephant. This stupid plastic elephant that spun in circles and sprayed water joyously from it’s trunk. It’s smile said pure bliss, and with every rotation the spraying water taunted me. It came on slow at first. A few drips, a dark spot slowly spreading on the crotch of my blue Umbro shorts. No damage done. But we all know, once that seal is broken, there is no turning back. The dam broke, sending a warm jet of piss dripping off the bottom of my shorts and down my leg. I couldn’t even stop it. In fact, it felt so good finally peeing that I just kinda squatted there like a girl dog relieving itself in the front yard. Once my stream subsided, the initial liberation was replaced with total panic.

My friends were quickly approaching. Since I was trying to hurry through my game, I was ahead of them when my water broke. I knew if my friends saw me with pee all down the front of me, I would never let it down. Being the novel fat funny kid was hard enough work to begin with. In a quick act of desperation I darted towards the spinning elephant and stood in the path of the spraying water. The elephant doused me with water just as my friends walked up. I stood there for several rotations and let the elephant really coat me down. My friends all erupted in laughter, humiliation and identity crisis averted.

Or so I thought.

I finished my game of golf, and enjoyed some go-cart action. As we all piled in the van, the birthday boy’s mom corralled a few of us to ride with her in her car to the house for cake. I had long since dried off and forgotten that I had pissed all over myself, so I jumped right in the front seat. I didn’t realize that all the other boys piled in the van, and I was left to ride with the birthday mom alone. Once safely buckled up in the car, we set off on one of the longest and most excruciatingly awkward car rides i have ever had the misfortune of experiencing.

I think I noticed the smell first. It filled the car and stung my nostrils. The musty salty stench of dried urine. I tried to play dumb, and just looked out the window. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the mom contorting her face, her eyes discretely dart in my direction as she cracked the window. She had to know, but neither of us said a word. I just sat there with a thick layer of filth, shame, and disgust all down the front of me. This is something that I haven’t been able to shake from my memory, and every time I reminisce I feel that familiar pang in my stomach of humilation, even after a decade of other way more disgusting and self-depriciating tribulations. But those lacking self-respect seem to tell the best stories, so I’ll keep em’ coming.