It’s Spring Break time again, (so I’ve been told by MTV)
which means that it’s time to put away my winter caribou pelts and sacks of
whale blubber, and unleash my Adonis-like gorgeousness upon the world, for all
you pathetic mortals to see and covet.
Usually, for Springapalooza, this nation’s (United States of
America) youth migrates to southern shores, to bask in the sun, wear revealing
bathing suits near bodies of water (yet rarely going in said water. Scientists
have yet to explain this phenomenon.) and drink extremely sugary fruit-based
cocktails with names like I Don’t
Remember Eating That, The Dangling
Participle, Busta’s Lament and
the always popular Englebert Humperdinck.
I’m too old and world-weary to partake in such juvenile behavior.
But there was a time not so long ago* I used to hit the beach to boogie board
and get stung by every jellyfish in a hundred-mile radius. And as I reminisce
on Spring Breaks past, one memory stands out to me. The time I made a
fascinating historical discovery that would change my life.
It was December 8, 1998, (I take my Spring Breaks whenever I
damn well please. In this I will not apologize nor compromise.) and I was
walking along tranquil (and frigid) Avery Road Beach, in scenic Silver Springs,
FL., which is odd, because I’m pretty sure that town is landlocked. All of a
sudden, the big toe on my left foot, in its never-ending quest to stub itself
on every possible object, came across an unidentified object buried in the
sand, although this was Florida, so it was probably 95% sand and 5% cocaine. After
the requisite three minutes of me cussing out my evil toe and threatening
dismemberment, I removed the object from the sand. To my surprise, I discovered
that it was an 18th century bottle of British port. Even more
interesting was the note I found inside.
It went, a little something, like this…
***
Captain’s Log: 8.12.76 Day 47
The men’s morale is low. We are down to the final barrel of
limes. Poor Bosun’s Mate Smyth had a third tooth dislodge itself from his
mouth, last eve. I fear a sudden, ship-wide onset of scurvy. Even worse,
weevils have been found in the flour. The cook is having a devil of a time
removing them in totality. Many a sailor on this fine vessel has found a
portion of these vile worms in their meager ration of bread.
To make matters worse, we have not had a favorable wind in
almost a fortnight. We are left in the hands of the Lord our God, and the winds
of chance.
Captain’s Log: 23.12.76, Day 63
And still our dire straits continue. I had hoped and prayed
that the upcoming Christmas Time would be a cause of joy and merriment amongst
the hearts of this beleaguered crew, but I fear it is for naught. It is a bad
omen and does not bode well. All I can do is pray to the heavens and beseech God
for mercy upon his humble servants.
Captain’s Log: 13.1.77, Day 84
Huzzah! Success at last! A wind, heaven-sent I am sure of
it, has finally filled our formally barren sails! As the hundreds of tons of
strong and stout English wood, christened the HMS Falcor, strain under the pull of the wind, the men rejoice to
once again feel the salty spray on their withered old sea-dog faces.
We can only hope the winds carry us, in the ocean’s embrace,
to a most well-received locale. I have ordered the First Mate to have the crew
trim the sails properly. A task they were quite eager to undertake, to wake
themselves from the tediousness of days of inactivity. Only fortune and hope
guide us now.
Captain’s Log: 15.1.77, Day 86
The abundance continues! We are blessed by the Lord
Almighty. Our nets overflow with all manner of sea life, some of which I am
sure have never been seen by the eyes of white, Christian men.
The only unfortunate report is that our man Smyth was
accidentally knocked overboard whist pulling up the netting. But we can take
solace in the fact that his death will mean larger rations for the rest.
Captain’s Log: 2.2.77, Day 94
Land ho! We have not yet sighted any native life, but from
the crow’s nest, we can see a lush, verdant countryside: trees, bushes, birds
and wildlife. A veritable Eden! Tomorrow I shall lead a group ashore for
further exploration! God’s mercy be with us!
Captain’s Log: 3.2.77, Day 95
Oh shit! Aaaah! Ruuuuuun!
***
And it just ends right there. Kind of weird, right? Was this
guy dictating his log entries? Who takes the time to write while running for
their lives? Who was he? Where did they land? So many unanswered questions. I
didn’t know where to start!
So I just wrote DEEZ NUTZ at the bottom, shoved it back in
the flask and threw it back in the ocean. Let’s see what future Indiana Jones
makes of that!
*Bullshit. It was a
LONG time ago. Possibly even never. Who can say?
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