Friday, November 05, 2004

Fun Things To Do In The Desert

Perhaps you've seen movies wherein crazy hillbillies in the mountains of West Virginia or something terrorized and/or ate stranded motorists. These films always seem to place the inbred hillbillies in the woods. I say that it's equally possible-no, established fact-that they live in the desert. Charles Manson had a hole in the desert that the Manson family chilled at for a while, waiting for the world to end so that they'd become the kings of pot-smoking-psycho-serial-killerdom. Which they already were, so it was kind of pointless to live in the empty desert when they could go to, say, Las Vegas.

So where was I? Nowhere you say? True. However, I have had personal experience evading and/or face-hammering an entire tribe of cannibalistic desert nomads. I usually take a mountain bike when I go out to taunt the nuclear waste mutated/inbred craziness that is the Yukkle tribe (yes, Yukkle is not a particularly terrifying name, but it's easy enough to pronounce if you've only got a quarter the normal allotment of brain cells, and a 50th the normal allotment of teeth). I take a mountain bike because it is unlikely to break down. Historically speaking, movies have shown us that any kind of motorized vehicle is statistically unreliable in a chase (for the chasee, the chaser's car doesn't even necessarily need wheels). However, I have yet to see a film in which a bicycle has broken down. I never bring a gun because again, historically and statistically speaking, I would either run out of bullets or be too afraid to load it properly. Instead I bring along a hefty wrench, slightly rusty, such as you might find in a shed while running away from a psychopath. I take the middleman (ie shed) out of the equation by bringing my own trusty, rusty wrench.

Aside from the physical preparations, I always make sure to have a beautiful girl to come home to, because nothing can stop the power of love (or it's closely related friend, animal lust). Or, barring that, I just put up pictures around my apartment of a beautiful girl, and spend time on the phone pretending to talk to her (so as to deceive anyone who might be "watching").
Usually I find that the best way to eliminate a demented screaming nomad who can smell fear is to set an elaborate trap, wherein there are many variables that can go wrong, but it is nevertheless a hundred times more effective than a loaded gun or an automobile that was previously in excellent mechanical condition.

Once I dug a great big hole in the sand and threw in a half melted chocolate bar that I had left in my back pocket. The plan was to attract some fire ants, who would in turn attract various desert dwelling scorpions and black widow spiders, and then get the Yukkles to jump into the pit. Within seconds (it seemed) the pit was absolutely crawling with all sorts of deadly arthropods. In order to set the bait (naturally me), I walked around in a circle, face upraised to the sky, shouting something like, "You want me? You want your effing dinner? Come and get me you bastards!". I sobbed a little bit at the end there, in order to show how much they were driving me crazy. They smelled my fear immediately and began to chase me. In an inexplicable fashion, I had managed to wander quite some distance from my trap. Though it didn't seem so at the time, I must have climbed over various rocks and down a small cliff of no more than 15 feet (though I still think I should have remembered that). So as they took up the chase, I scrambled and tripped a few times, never for long enough that they could actually catch me, but certainly enough to keep them very close. Once I hit open land, I ran as fast as I could for the pit. Now, as it turns out, I must have been a long jumper at some point, because this was a pretty big hole, but that was good fortune for me, because I managed to just barely clear it (naturally, in my planning phase, I had dug a pit just wider than the farthest I had ever jumped). Right behind me as they were, because of my clever falling a lot, the psychotic mutants fell right into the pile of waiting scorpions, spiders, fire ants, and snakes (the snakes must have showed up while I was being chased). Despite the relative ease with which they might have climbed out of the pit (after all, these were nuclear nomads who had already taken several bullets, blows to the head, and being run over by a train), they just thrashed, screamed for a short time, and promptly died (virtually immediately subsiding into dessicated skeletons).

So if anybody ever wants to tag along, cannibalistic desert nomad taunting is a great time as long as you know the rules.


Blogger Rob Paisley said...

Now it's time to comment on Rochester's first snow! Here's some pictures to prove it: I'm sure you wouldn't realize you missed snow until you saw pictures of it this early in the season. (yeah, that's it). -rsp

November 9, 2004 at 5:14 AM  

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