I’d like to thank the P&C for writing the third installment of their annual Scare the Bejeezus Out of the Landlubbers series. The whole hordes-of-hungry-sharks-swirling-about-offshore-waiting-to-tear-chunks-out-of-parts-you-may-need-later was brilliant enough, but when mated with the jillions-of-jellyfish-tentacles-groping-blindly-at-your-writhing-torso-of-agony story, it was enough to render the water at my usual spot entirely free of humans for the whole weekend. Brilliant. I salute them.
At least it was empty for the hour or so I surfed each day. But, now that I think of it, there was also this dude who had to be from Latvia or something, standing in stomach-deep water slapping himself on the back like you see in those movies where they have those Russian baths. But he probably couldn’t read English and was therefore blithely unaware of the dangers below. To be fair, I did see that big blacktip that’s been haunting the lineup for the past couple of months. So I paddled in and stood on the beach for a while to watch the foreign dude get eaten. But it was taking too long, so I got bored and bailed.
Then, just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water, they lobbed out the Portuguese man-of-war story. Now it’s not a jillion tentacles, but just one, and you will be fried like a Sunday chicken. They’re really spoiling me. Especially since the swell models are showing what looks to be a tasty little swell headed our way. Would it be too much to hope that the crowds are too creeped out by the Columbus Crew’s Neptune’s Murderous Minions series to venture out at all?
So, not taking any chances on leaving crowd control up to them, and being your full-service Surfblogger, I feel it’s my duty to warn all the people who get in my way of the unknown peril that awaits them.
So gather ’round and listen up. It’s been swept under the rug by the authorities for years, but did you know that thousands — perhaps hundreds of thousands — of beachgoers have returned from a sojourn at the shore only to find that they now have SAND IN THEIR EARS??
I know, I know, it’s horrible. And the pressures of polite society have kept this hushed-up for generations. But I feel it is my duty to expose the dark, shameful underbelly of the shoreline, because when left untreated, the hapless victims will hear: THE SOUND OF DIGGING — FOREVER.
Plus, the only known cure is to have one of these available at the local hospital.
The repeated treatments can be painful and are not always successful, so your silent screams and uncontrollable twitching while having your tender, precious membranes sucked out of your throbbing skull by a cordless, scented Shop-Vac will have no effect on Nurse Diesel. But at least she will loosen the restraints every 30 minutes so you can get some feeling back into your extremities. SO BE WARNED.
Everyone who has a tendency to stand slack-jawed in the impact zone during the first decent swell in a couple of weeks will be much safer at the mall this weekend. I hear they have all kinds of groovy flicks over at the Cineplex and the popcorn is especially tasty this time of year. And even though the floor might be sticky, NOTHING UNDER YOUR CHAIR THAT YOU CAN’T SEE WANTS TO EAT YOU. And you can eat your gummy bears in the nice air conditioning.
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