A hero, a true hero, is a rare thing in this world. Very often it’s simply a misspelling, Hiro, and refers to a little Japanese boy. But when a true hero comes along, one who displays heroism, that is something special.
Some would say I am one of such heroes, but who am I to judge myself like that? Rather, I shall present to you a completely unbiased account of one of my “heroic” adventures, and let you judge for yourself.
The day began just as any other would, but I guess that’s the way bravery works. You never know when you’re going to need it, and then BAM, you need it. Anyways, I was sitting there, talking with a friend, trying to figure out what we should do. Out of the blue I mention “maybe we should go see a local grunge show.”
“Grunge is, like dead, man. Besides, all the real grunge is from the Pacific Northwest or something.”
“So you wanna road trip out to Washington to see some band that shouldn’t exist anymore?”
“Doesn’t your car like travel in time or something?”
“That’s only on official business.”
“Official business, what is it you do again? Mr. Unemployed?”
“I already told you, if I tell you, I’d have to kill you.”
“Whatever, we going or not?”
“Fine, just let me get some pants on.”
I should take this time to mention how much more comfortable athletic shorts are than jeans or other full legged pant-wear. Sadly, athletic shorts are usually lacking in the pocket capacity (even if they have them, they’re small), so if one wants to go out, pants must usually be worn. It’s a sad reality of life, but you just have to accept it.
So I got my pants on and grabbed my keys to go to the Pacific Northwest to catch some music. I got about a block from my house when the trouble started.
“Why doesn’t the air conditioning work? Why does this car have to be so hot,” my friend nasally exclaimed.
I realized something right there. I would be driving from suburban Philadelphia all the way across the country with a whiny hipster. So I stopped at his house and simply proclaimed, “TIME TO TAKE OUT THE TRASH!”
“What are you talking about? Trash comes on Monday and Thursday?”
He was right, it was a Friday. If I had actual trash to take out, it would surely rot, especially in this heat. But I was talking about kicking him out of the car, and forging ahead on my own. I glared down at him, trying to drop hints that I was talking about kicking him out of the car, but he wasn’t a very smart fellow (he was a hipster, after all). I got out of the car, opened his door, unbuckled his seat belt, picked him up out of his seat, and threw his ass out on the curb.
Now I could actually go see a local grunge show. Then I realized my hipster friend was right, and there was no grunge in Philadelphia. I disregarded the thing he said about grunge being dead, however. I mean, I just listened to that Nevermind album by Nirvana, and let me tell you, that band had staying power.
I’m going to skip over the actual details of the road trip itself. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that road trips are not worth telling about unless Tom Green is involved somehow. Needless to say, he had no involvement.
So the drive was ultimately uneventful and unmentionable and I arrived in the Pacific Northwest. I took the assumption that the grungier the music is, the more North, and specifically, more West it would be. I drove to Cape Flattery, hearing it was the most North West part of the Olympic Peninsula in Washington. Naturally, this is where one would think the grungiest music would be. Alas, all I found was some whales in the ocean and a tribe of Sasquatch in the nearby woods.
“Starbuck, BLOOD AND THUNDER OFF THE PORT BOW,” I screamed.
“Sir, you do not have a vessel, perhaps you should calm down,” he replied.
“Then get me a vessel goddamnit. I have to hunt that damn white whale! It really embarrassed me this one time, and I shall not be made out to be the fool, Starbuck!”
“Sir, what did we learn in Star Trek 4?”
“That if we don’t save the whales, an alien probe from the future is going to destroy the earth?”
“Right.”
“But those were humpback whales. Why can’t we still hunt these sperm whales?”
“Potato, potato sir, just drop it. The whale doesn’t know about revenge. What did we learn from Jaws 4?”
“That aquatic animals can learn revenge?”
“NO! Sharks can’t learn revenge damnit, they even said it in the first one! We learned that drawn out movies based only thinly on unfounded revenge suck. I suggest you just move on with this plotline.”
I suppressed my need to hunt for the great white whale with the aid of my first mate, Starbuck. It appears he opened a coffee store, and it really hit the spot. Then he reasoned with me, explaining that going after this whale would surely kill us all. I probably wouldn’t have listened to him if I hadn’t had that cup of coffee in my hand.
No comments:
Post a Comment