Note: The 2nd annual Thunder/4th anniversary-bachelor float trip again visited the clear-ish waters of the Eleven Point River, which both straddles the Missouri-Arkansas border and humps any sense of good taste.
The much-discussed, rarely observed migration of this pack of middle-aged white males to southern Missouri is generally epic in nature: Think zebras crossing a river in the serengeti, Discovery Channel-style. Only instead of meeting their demise via hungry alligators, they fall due to excess-alcohol-aided drowning.
This year, however, a reporter from National Geographic was on hand to witness the scene. Due to issues of vulgarity and decorum, his report never ran in the magazine. We reproduce it here, so that all may heed the warning: "Never again."
Homo thundrian Crossing the Redneck Divide I arrive at the point of migration departure, known as Chez Stenson, to discover that several members of the Pack already appear inebriated due to pre-departure rituals. To my surprise, they have apparently chosen to put all their survival chances in one basket by traveling to the river in a large Recreational Vehicle. Consolidating their risk in this way seems foolish, but I temper my doubts because the species to which they loosely belong has proven to ably dominate the Earth and compete at par with the B1 Division of HNA hockey: two accomplishments unrivaled by any other life form in this world, save for perhaps the ground squirrel.
There is immediately talk of abducting a missing member, Walker, until the team accountant notes that the Pack's stores of Levitra are not sufficient enough to support such a move. "There would be mutiny," he said. "Too many men fighting for too few goats."
1st Man Down Within minutes of departure 'The Doctor,' one of the two non-naturalized members of the Pack, passes out face down at the rear of the carrier. This not only reflects poorly on the Pack's orientation program for outsiders, it also -- much more seriously -- endangers the entire Pack's admittedly narrow chance of survival: They will now be forced to both self-medicate and self-tourniquet without the aid of the lone licensed physician within 100 miles of the Eleven Point River. Though tempted to bail, my duty requires that I carry on despite the obvious personal risk.
My immediate concern falls upon that of the heavily medicated Stenson. But truth be told, none of these members appear fit for survival, save perhaps Fisherman Mike, who dresses the part by wearing camo' and talking up his food procurement skills to anyone who will listen.
'The Greater' at Play Not long after The Doctor's collapse, the lightest member of the group, "The Greater," is sticking his head out the window to air his jowels in the same manner as the Canus lupus familiaris.
He is also panting, sniffing other members' nether regions, and occasionally breaking into frantic fits to bite chiggers off of his inner thigh.
This is, truth be told, most unsettling. We are but an hour from departure, and already two of the allegedly more "respectable" members of this Pack are incapacitated. The first real pangs of fear for my survival simmer in the pit of my stomach. If I somehow survive this journey, National Geographic sure as hell better run this story.
Nonetheless, the Pack miraculously arrives at camp without further casualties, and The Doctor even awakes from his coma: He may be of some use after all. The group's Eagle Scout Cruise Director, aka 50/50 Gay "Decoy," even manages to start a campfire without ripping down a live tree, which legend says is a rare feat for him. But before that, it is decided that the Pack's fire circle should be moved from Kurtzeborn's Chigger Patch to a spot closer to the vehicle.
Euclid Rolls in His Grave To aid fire relocation "Limp Wrist G" helps move a few stones but, misunderstanding Euclid's definition of a "circle," gives up when his four stones form a roughly straight line.
In what appears to be a common occurrence, the apparent leader of the Pack, "The Govna," steps into finish a job that his pawns cannot manage. In contrast to the excitable Cruise Director, this "Govna" leader appears silent and sage-like. Yet one can't help questioning his intelligence for assuming responsibility for this Darwinian Accident on wheels.
Tents Raised within Minutes* *does not include K-Feld's
As the fire "ring" is constructed, other members of the Pack raise their tents: A simple task that even a cursing mechanic can do with nothing more than a $20 Cummins Tool. Yet in what seems to be one of many annual rituals, lazy roofer K-Feld embroils in an epic struggle with his tent, "The Green Monster." While the rest of camp's resting quarters are setup within minutes, in broad daylight, K-Feld's struggle continues into the night, broken f#$%ing pole after broken #$%ing pole.
Evening:When Homo thundrians Collapse Like Old Men
The Lazy Homo thundrian rooferscabus, Exhausted from Another Epic Tent Battle As special Stenson pork pot roast is devoured, morale-building occurs all around the fire -- no doubt an attempt to summon the courage for the next day's river travels. A game similar to musical chairs ensues, with the fiery "Sloppy Rob" repeatedly losing his chair and cursing. Soon it is pointed out that the Pack have packed, somewhere in the RV, more folding chairs per capita than even alcohol, in accordance with the federal "No Ass Left Behind" Act. In due time Rob is given a chair where his ass and Bud Light may find purchase.
However, before long a disturbing pattern emerges: these Homo thundrians have little endurance. One by one, they drop around the fire, leaving lit cigars on the ground and watery beer still in hand.
K-Feld the Roofer, already weakened by his nemesis tent, tires himself out in a prolonged rant about the importance of union something-or-others when installing a copper roof. He promptly drops his cigar to the ground (pictured above, between legs), a cigar that is conservatively valued at twice the worth of all his combined labor of the last 20 years.
The Fisherman Rests for Tomorrow's Catch Like sprayed flies they drop. Fisherman Mike, the man who claims he will catch enough fish tomorrow to feed the whole Pack falls early, no doubt resting up for the barrels of fish he will bring back to camp at the end of the float. He already appears to enjoy hero status among the Pack, so one assumes he is afforded a certain leeway in resting at the time of his choosing.
Biologists who study his adaptive skills note that he crosses his legs nicely and effeminately, the way a modest girl should. Yet such modesty is no match for the horny chiggers that are headed his way.
In fact, a close-up photo reveals that the chiggers are already turning his gonads into what he later described as sack flesh so swollen "it looks like the wings of a bat." Biologists are unsure, but the evidence is compelling:
Close-up on the Fisherman's Nads, Post-Chigger Party
So Much Better than a Double-Folding Chair Later White Noise, who is prone to intense releases of noxious gases, decides to sleep outside rather than pollute his tent and tempt the wrath of the notoriously short-tempered Gov'na. I had been warned before this assignment that White Noise may booby-trap my travelbag with improvised explosives, but so far I have found him to be a pleasant chap, albeit a bit hard on himself. As he is designated repairman for this journey, the fact that he rests easily and free of cursing tirades indicates no fuses have blown on the RV.
Communist at Rest: Sharing the People's Labour for the Glory of the Five-Year Plan How much wood would a woodcutter cut if a woodcutter would cut wood? Is it before or after his wait in the bread line?
This member, "Woodcutter," is rumored to be a "skilled artisan" type, though I have seen no evidence to that effect. Presumably, he spends most of his time trying to form guilds and enjoy the same communal benefits that his unionite roofer and insulator friends have attained.
It should be noted, however, that he is a fine purveyor of coffee, which was critical for this assignment ever making it to print. [Ed. note: this assignment never did make it to print. Read your intro, you idiot hack.]
'And I Raaan, I Ran So Far Awa-yay-ay' In due course, morning arrives. The Pack is ever closer to the meat of their journey. To rally the Pack for the mission ahead, The Decoy attempts to engage all in a singalong to a one-hit-wonder '80s track. He finds no takers and, in a fit, promptly pees a circle around his sleeping bag.
However, he is not shunned as strongly as the second non-naturalized member, "Tatonka," who emerges from a hot, sticky, "50/50" night in the RV wearing a Speedo (technically, a Nike, but it's safest not to parse too finely when handling banana hammocks). This disturbs the Pack, and members pace around the fire, squawking at one another as if a predator had charged out of the RV and threatened their Stenson pork roast.
Making things worse ("Making it worse?! How can it possibly be worse?! Jehovah, Jehovah, Jehovah!"), as the group loads beverages and minimal survival gear onto the bus, some inadvertently discover that, in the cover of night, G "The Vomiting Wrister" has left one of his bile-and-pork offerings to the gods right at the bus door. The agile members of the Pack manage to avoid it, but as always, the slow uncoordinated Zebra brings the Pack down: Decoy tracks the bile all the way to the back row of the bus, making for a most aromatic journey to the river. As with each new stage in this journey, I again question whether the assignment of documenting this migration is worth my meager pay.
But I repeat myself. The next ominous sign: Fisherman Mike is distressed to learn that he not only cannot legally use his secret "knuckle sauce" fishing lures, but he also cannot legally use his outboard motor to power away into fishing solitude. At this time, I wet my pants.
The Speedo Special Edition Tatonka™ model: Woven to flex with time and weight The uncertainty about Tatonka is finally resolved by a vote that decrees the two least lucid members of the pack, Woodcutter and Stenson, shall tow him down the river. Explaining this non sequitur is beyond my observational capacity.
Still, despite the resolution to ostracize Tatonka with the old married couple of the Pack, there remains pervasive discomfort about his presence. He sits alone on the transport bus to the river with his White Russian, white hair, and white supremacy thoughts. Standing alone in confusion at the "Loading Zone" drop-off point, he bears a striking resemblance to the average Czech before mowing his lawn.
But finally, we are here: it is time for the 14-mile 19-mile (thanks, Decoy) river crossing. Continue here for part II...
Comments (1) for "Float 2007:"
Typical, first-person, narcissistic, white imperialist writing from a self-important, prima donna, faux franchise player. It is all about you and your high and mighty Western perspective. This no surprise from a pre-season injured and out of shape, OK-during-regular-season as long as you get force fed the puck in the slot but cant get your team anywhere in the play-offs type Tchuckesque player. Sorry, that us, uncivilized underlings dont quite measure up to your "superior" Western belief systems as to decorum, personal hygene, sexual mores, or tent constructing standards, but the simple life choices of an insomniac roofer, a starving and soon to be dead outdoorsman or perverted speedo-donning narwhale are something that you Westerners could learn from.
Of course, please dont leave the team or I'll get sent back down to Peoria. Pass the Modelo.
By Martin "Decoy" Jansky, the other white meat - 8/1/2007 10:47 AM
As you may have noticed, the site has changed. Sampa, the free-site host, did a version 2 of some sort.
Despite an FAQ that made it sound like allowing one's site to go through v.2 surgery would be okay, there were several flexibilities that surprisingly disappeared with the click of a button. (e.g. I cannot believe sidebars like this one are even narrower than before.)
And I'm told -- miraculously! -- that the conversion cannot be undone. Truth be told, I'm actually quite pissed. But free is free. Sampa has otherwise been good to me.
So I need to sort through site "features" to see how I can make do. Except that I don't have the time at the moment, in the middle of graduate classes and Lighthousehockey.com. (btw, I've removed that Lighthouse RSS feed so that you're not clogged with random Islanders hockey gibberish).
But I promise to touch up the accessories when I get a chance, and return to irregularly scheduled blogging.
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Comments (1) for "Float 2007:"