You think that you can front when revelation comes?

Now I ain’t sayin’ shes a gold digger…

Good evening, kids.

Another weekend adventure draws to a close, and as another Sunday falls away it takes me just that much longer to recover. I don’t have the constitution for the life I lead, but lo, I lead it anyway.

First of all, a declaration: Hip hop can save the world. Friday, various friend-entities and I went to see the fabulous Psychokinetics in the City, and they were top notch as expected. A talented couple of kids, who rep Alameda with a shameless wholeheartedness that I can deeply sympathize with. Get down with your bad selves, fellas.

After a couple hours of sleep, I headed off for The Delta, everyone’s favorite cesspit. Westopher Fielding Gonzalez Lazara the Third, or as they call him at the Player’s Club, ‘Big Dub’, invited me out for a day of wakeboarding. Despite moderately frigid temperatures, the day was certainly a success. I do some of my best work on the wake when I’m sleep deprived and somewhat malnourished, so I decided to give the old wakeskate a try. Now there’s a tricky little fuckin piece of equipment. No bindings = no mercy, as I soon found out. Shivering and anxious, I flailed along behind the boat for several 50 yard stretches before the squirrelly bastard shot out from under me like a watermelon seed. Still, trying new things is what life is all about, or so the hookers tell me. On the bright side, my first-run ineptitude made the jabbering little Australian who joined us on the boat look even better when he got out on it and showed me up. I’m sure the saggy, leather-skinned hags watching from the decks of their husbands’ cigarette boats were duly impressed, as were their screeching, damaged children.

At one point before his first run, Wes was putting on his wet suit and began seizing violently, slapping the sun deck with the suit. I feared the worst, and convinced he had been overcome by some fucked up Delta The Shining-style madness, I grabbed the bullhorn and blasted him with the siren in an attempt to spook and disorient him long enough for the Australian and I to escape to shore. “HOLY SHIT!” He screamed, slapping himself and smacking the wetsuit against the side of the boat. “He’s fucking lost it,” I told the Australian, “I’m gonna blast him with this bullhorn in an attempt to spook and disorient him long enough for us to escape to shore.”

“You’re bloody right. He’ll kill us all.” Said the Australian.


Startled by the deafening woop, Wes seemingly regained control, and tried to explain himself over the brutal aural assault.

BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAesus Christ god damn you see that monster? Jesus god!” He said, pointing into the gravy-colored Delta murk.

“You’ve lost it, man! You better start making some sense or me and this foreigner are gonna drown your crazy ass!” I screamed, edging towards panic.

“Seriously! Look riBWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN FUCKING STOP with that! Look in the water, you fool!” Wes yelled.

Sure enough, floating a few yards away was a black widow the size of a tennis ball, a black widow which had apparently taken up residence in Wes’s wetsuit, without permission.

“Look at the size of that thing! A widow that big could kill a mastodon. Good lord!” I said, relieved that Wes’s madness was justified. I wouldn’t want to have to kill another friend just because they were screaming about how they were covered with bugs, especially one as big as Wes. It’d take more than one hit to the dome with the fire extinguisher to put him down. What a relief to see that he actually had been covered with bugs. I set the fire extinguisher down, and peered off into the filthy “water” with the rest of the crew.

“That’s not a spider, that’s the god damn queen Alien. It’s arms are longer than mine.”
“You could ride that thing, if you could teach it not to kill you or live in your wetsuits.”
“I can’t even imagine what this radioactive Delta soup is doing to that beast. What if the fucker mutates? What if it gets even bigger, and follows us home and kills us so it can wear our skin and masquerade as a human? That thing is just the kind of god damn freaky bloodthirsty animal that makes me hate nature. Fuck, I hate nature.”

Sensing, no, understanding that we were talking about her, the spider began swimming back towards the boat.

“Holy christ it’s coming back! Turn the boat around!”

Wes scrambled for the wheel. The Australian, overcome by the sight of the black and red monster swimming towards the ship, climbed screeching and bawling into the engine compartment and slammed the hatch shut from inside.

“Coward!” I said, reaching for the wake skate. “Come on you vicious bastard! I’m ready for you!”

The beast clambered up onto the sun deck, hissing and chittering.

BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANT “Take that you fucker!” I yelled, slamming the dazed bug square in the face with the wake skate. Stunned, the widow splashed back into the water.

“Get us out of here!”

Wes ripped the boat around, and we took off towards the north bridge. At a hundred yards, with the hammer down, he cranked the boat around and headed straight back for the widow, which was by this time swimming for shore.

“We can’t let that thing get away. Who knows what kind of havoc it would wreak in a populated area.”

We hit the bastard at 35 miles an hour, and with a sickening thud the fiberglass hull crushed the beast’s thick exoskeleton, popping it like a zit. Humanity was safe once again. Thanks to us.

I calmed the Australian down enough to coax him out of the engine compartment, and we spent the rest of the day in relative peace.

You seriously wouldn’t believe how huge that bug was. My god. Watching Wes rip that suit off was like watching Rosie O’Donnell take the wrapper off a cupcake, the speed and the fury of the thing are almost inhuman. I hate bugs.


After a few more hours of arachnid-free water sporting, we headed back for the dock. Someone suggested ice cream, which meant interacting with the dreaded locals. Still, softserve swirl did seem like the perfect thing after ingesting two gallons of toxic Delta filth at twenty miles an hour. For those of you not in the know, the Delta and its surrounding suburbs are home to probably the trashiest humans on earth. Delta folk make those toothless Appalachian hicks from back east seem like Oxford-educated British gentlemen. You’re almost guaranteed that whatever tattooed beer-gutted wife-beating savage you see stumble out of his diesel F350 is either a registered sex offender or a cop. Sometimes both. Trouble awaited us at the dock; a typical Delta “family”.

We tied in, and began getting gas. The locals leered. Their child squawked.

“Quite a nice day today.” said the Aussie.

I was aghast.

What are you doing, you fool! Don’t talk to them!

“YES INDEED.” The freak/father answered. “We’re a bit LOST. But it’s all fun, it’s all fun. It’s all fun.”

See what you did, you damn fool? Now he wants to talk, or get help, or murder us.

The Australian and the father continued their seemingly harmless banter, and the child approached the boat.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” One of the crew asked.
“Unplanned Pregnancy. Her friends just call her ‘Whoops!'” I offered. Not under my breath.
“My name is Jessica.” She said. “This is my second time on a boat.”
“Are you having fun?” Someone asked.

for god’s sake stop chatting the child up. you have no concept of what the chemicals and poisons and fuel additives in this dirty ass water can do to a developing mind and body. she’s probably a werewolf or something.
“Oh yes I something something blah blah” I have trouble listening to people, when they talk. Children are even harder. I don’t remember what she said after that.

“Let’s go get some ice cream and get the hell out of here. This water turned my nipples green, and I need a beer and a shower.” I headed off.

Inside the store, the parolee behind the counter watched us warily as we came through the door. Four or five barflies, presumably having been kicked out of all the local bars, were saddled up to the store counter drinking cheap wine and eating tropical Skittles. I avoided eye contact, and ordered my ice cream.

The parolee cleared her throat.
oh god, don’t talk to me. just give me my god damn soft serve and let things be.

“Good day on the water today?”
“It was fine. A little windy. We also had to fight a mutant spider.”
She gave me a weird look.

The escaped serial rapist next to me paid his bill, and walked out, shouting something in Spanish at the trophy wife driving a passing H2.

“Well isn’t that just great. Here’s your cone.”

Fucking Delta weirdos.


Then, another night in the city.

Desperate to kill off the myriad bacteria I’d ingested in a day’s worth of wakeboarding, I drank heavily as soon as we reached the bars. And continued to do so. After 11:30 or so, it’s pretty much all a blur. I’m sure there are exciting and eloquent stories to be told about last night. Hopefully I’ll hear them someday.

Thanks to whoever brought me home.

I woke up at 3PM with my hand in a tub full of yack, and have been brutally, remorselessly hungover since.


How did it get to be 5 am already. The nights, they fly by. I should sleep.

There are a couple of things I didn’t get to this time around, remind me for our next visit:

1) Nintendo stuff
2) Why I hate tax forms
3) Kanye West kicks ass

That should be plenty for next time.


I am destined for great things, in life.
Great things.

This is a heavy burden to bear, at times.

A man asked me once why I write petty stuff.

“Because the desolate poetry of my soul, were I to reveal it to you, would destroy you completely. It would dry up your eyeballs and collapse your aorta, it would shatter your mind and rot your morals. So be thankful.” I told him.

Not sure what just made me think of that.



2 Responses to “You think that you can front when revelation comes?”

  1. I’m glad you survived that Delta trip. As for me, the thought of trillions of microorganisms festering in that water makes me nauseous. Good thinking on using spirits to kill those itty bitty bastards. Alcohol kills almost everything, or at least I like to think so :)

  2. you mean it makes you nauseated? you don’t seem overtly nauseous to me. but yeah. that fucking spider was HUGE.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: