Capt. Lanny tightened his pony-tail and climbed up onto the bridge of the S.S. Spasm Jackson. He put the binoculars to his eyes and scanned the horizon.
“No sign of ’em, Fernie,” he said, “no goddamn sign.”
“When you think’ll seeum, Cap’n?” Fernie answered, then spit his huge wad of bubble gum overboard into the dirty brown river.
“When they goddamn well decide we oughta,” Lanny said, pulling a crumpled pack of Chomper’s Chew brand chewing gum from his fanny pack. He jammed three pieces into his maw and tossed the pack to Fernie. Lanny took a deep nasal breath, the electric odour of raw sewage burned his brain-bag.
This, he thought, is a chlamydia mission to the max. They do not pay me enough. But I always come floating back. I have mental problems. Maybe there’s some kinda prescription I could get for some kind of something that would turn off my stupid decision reflex. Or at least numb it a bit.
“Contact!” Fernie cried, “got some of them short-haired puss boils making their way down stream over yonder like.” He pointed. Lanny followed his stinky finger. Sure enough, a flotilla of paddle boats were slowly slurping their way towards them.
Nasty damn, he cursed inside, and I thought I could make through this morning without having to stab some goddamn puffy bag of curds in the face and browning my undies. C’est la vie.
“All hands on deck!” He yelled, and tightened his fanny pack. Time to earn my goddamn paycheck. And have a little of the old bad fun.
Bring it on, you squishy goofs…