Friday, July 13, 2012

Soo...This Story's Not True. Just Saying.

FRIDAY STORY TIME! Now it is my turn to completely embarrass myself for the sake of my wife’s imaginary people.  Here it goes.

Many moons ago, when I was just a young boy, a lad of but 10 and 2 years, I was going for a walk in the woods. The sweet innocence of youth. Ahh how I pity the young, walking around with  lollipops and popsicles, don’t they know that Lollipops are made to fall in the dirt!?!?!?  Don’t they know that all popsicles will melt??  “I made a horse out of the bones of your brother’s!!”  Is what I should scream to those popsicles, maybe then they wouldn’t have the audacity to be oh so tasty and delicious (restrain yourself Lark, remember what happened last time?)

A happy child I was, but all that would change…
Bad things happen to good people, and I went to church every Sunday, ate my Wheaties, and even talked to the one-eyed-yellow-toothed-Polish-pirate hobo who lived down the block and was constantly playing his accordion.

Okay that was a bit of an exaggeration; he probably didn’t play the accordion, who knows.  But I digress.  Patrick the Polish Pirate besides, I was a good person, and I had my cummupins coming.  I know you are even now saying to your friends and family “I CAN’T WAIT WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT!?!?!? AHHAHAHAHHA!!!!!!!!!!!” reality, “man I wish he would get to it already! Or at least shut up and let us look at these awesome drawings!!”

What you should be like.

What you are really like.

Okay okay alright already! I’ll get down to brass tacks.

My walk had begun with a kayak ride from the lake on which our cabins were to another lake down a beautiful creek.  The sunlight dappled the bottom of the clear creek showing rainbow trout, their scales glinting, flashing imbetween shadows of leaves and sunken trees.  The fiddle head ferns unfolding in the light of the new day, seeming to reach towards all things good and beautiful in the world (unicorns, the easter bunny, and peacocks, you know the usual crew). 

            As I passed underneath the first bridge over the creek and through the pipe passage way underneath the second bridge the world opened.  The sky overhead and the wide expanse of water in front of me, all beckoned to me, calling me in towards the horizon.  And there, perfectly nestled in the protective folds of the comforting water, the lulling beat of the sleepy waves seeming to sooth the wild shoreline keeping the trees from breaking upon these placid waters with but a touch and a whisper was an island.  I knew I had to get to that Island.

How little I knew that day as I rode with a child-like innocence towards my inevitable demise!  Why could I not have just turned around and gone back?  Too late now, too late.

I landed on the island and experience elation, it was awesome!  Tall pine trees, the needles softly blanketing the ground, mounds of earth, dead trees hanging over the water threatening to break the glass like waters (chaos would ensue).  Being a little boy, I saw the mounds and said, “indian burial grounds!!” which of course led to, “there have got to be tons of arrowheads around here someplace!!!”

Digging, digging, and more digging, it was at some point during this wild search that I realized, that my stomach was rumbling a little bit, I guess I must be hungry I thought to myself.  FOOL!!  Ahhh if I could only…. But alas it is not possible.  

Finding a triangle shaped rock I became very excited and for the next couple of hours was completely immersed in what I was doing, until my stomach rumbled again, and this time it was the foreboding kind.  What to do! It was getting dark but  I was not very far from the cabins, maybe 20-30 minutes kayaking, but let’s be serious frantic kayaking does have a tendency to lead to a letting go of the bowels, things could get ugly…

Of course! I’d been digging holes for hours I could just utilize one of them!  So inspired (and excited to try such a novel activity [I grew up in NYC])  I prepared myself.  Suddenly I heard a sound behind me.  A breaking of a branch maybe?  I whipped around and in doing so lifted my body and loosed the contents of my bowels straight up into my pants.  “OH CRAP- LITERALLY.”  You know the question, “if a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear it does it really make a sound?”  Well I was really hoping that since there was no one to see me crap my pants it didn’t happen (looking down) nope that is not true.  Apparently the maker of the sound did not care, because I again heard a rustling of leaves and a snap of branches behind me, what could it be?  A bear, a bobcat??  NO. It had to be zombie indian chiefs coming back to get me for desecrating their burial site!!!!

RUNNNN!!!!!!!  Things were looking bad for mini me.  Poop in the pants, 20 minute kayak ride ahead, and being chased by zombies wearing headdresses, could it be worse? (I dare you top that)

Of course running like this was extremely difficult, ever seen the video from American Idol, “Pants on the Ground?” yea that is my anthem ( if you haven’t seen it check it out).

Branches whipping me in my nether regions I ran on (did that moan come from my mouth?) awkwardly shuffling across the forest floor I see my kayak, will I make it in time??  Wide eyed I look over my shoulder scared of what I’ll see.  Before I can get a good vision of the flesh eating followers I feel something tug at my pants, “they’ve got me!!!  I scream as I fly face first towards the lake, visions of decaying hands grabbing my pants in my mind.  The zipper of my pants caught on the ground, and the legs caught around my ankles, the force of my fall causes the pants to turn inside out and I have a surreal moment, in which my own feces (catapulted from the seat of my pants and expelled forward at an astounding rate) flies past my eyes to land in the water right where the cranium of yours truly was headed… They were floaters.  

Struggling out of my pants and heavily water logged, I crawled into the kayak, thoroughly defeated.  I threw the arrow heads back on the island “you can keep them!! They aren’t even sharp!”  (because in reality I had just found triangular rocks)  Kayaking back, the ferns were closed for the night, the sun was gone and the moon reflected off of the water, faintly showing sleeping fish on the bottom of the creek.  When the creek neck opened up onto the lake, I sighed relieved that I had made it uneventfully.  I snuck back into my cabin, cleaned up and went to sleep, never to say a word about it until today…


  1. Awesome drawings! Friday story time is fun!

    1. Friday story time is fun? Ha! Rabid bunny time is like 50,000 times more fun! Just sayin.

  2. HAHAHAHAHA! Stupid zombie india corpses!

    I love your illustrations on this.

    Did you ever figure out what it was?

    1. Yes. My husband's imagination. It's quite large and frightening. At all times.
      Thankfully the poo was imagined as well.

  3. Awesome drawings! So wait, this entire thing is not true? Funnily enough, this is kind of a combination of two of my own stories (minus the crap): the time I saw a ghost of an Indian Chief (in my imagination), and when I HAD to get to this party across the lake, just wanted to get there more than anything...stole a rowboat, and then it sunk. And then the "party" ended up being 40-year-olds with mullets (and their wives), and not the hot boys I had envisioned. So minus the party and the boat sinking, and adding in the crap, it's pretty similar...

    1. Yeah, Lark made the whole thing up. lol. and HOOOOLY Crap that's awesome! Your story wins. Did you stay and party with the 40 year old mullet-wearers? I heard they party pretty hard...


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