The Strobe-Light Jungle.

25 Aug

For those of you who know the site well enough to worry that I didn’t post last night: don’t worry, I’m alive. I apologize for not posting last night, but there is a purpose behind my absence. I was literally neck-deep in what you could call biological research. No, I wasn’t surrounded by textbooks on biology and evolutionary theory (although, I think that would reasonably classify as a “nerdgasm”). I decided, being the rugged man that I am, to do research in the field. Fortunately for everyone, I kept extensive notes and journal entries. Here is the transcript (verbatim) from expedition log as we entered into what I like to call “The Strobe-Light Jungle.”

9:24: I depart from my domicile in McKay, curious as to what adventures lay before me. I understand that what we are doing is considered “natural” in the animal kingdom…but like any first-time traveler to the Jungle, I can’t deny being a little nervous. The nerves are, I’m sure, just a manifestation of excitement.

9:32:  I arrive at the house of teammate Mike Z. Tonight is the celebration of his 21st birthday. Congratulations are exchanged and we all take a brief moment to collect ourselves and necessary belongings. The total expedition group consists of Mike, Tory, Kyle, and Myself. It promises to be an eventful night.

9:35: We have left the base camp and make our way over to our next check point. We know that as we go further away, we are rapidly approaching territory that is far beyond our normal range of ken. Fortunately for me, my companions have explored the Jungle numerous times. We are getting deeper into an area filled with strange people and habitats. Curiously enough, this is merely the fringe of the actual Jungle.

9:45: We have arrived at our check point. It appears to be a gathering of hybridized beings at the home of another teammate. By hybridized, I mean that they appear to be equally adept to surviving in both environments. Conversation is still taking place through normal english (or at least through proper variances) but the conversation seems more coarse and profane. People are expressing themselves with remarkable candor and honesty. 

9:50: We are performing a ritual that signifies the inclusion of strangers into the Jungle. There are certain tasks my companions perform- tasks to assert their belonging into the group. The use of hollowed ceremonial cups, inked to the point of ruby-red, is common. They must complete the tasks by downing the liquid and performing feats with the goblet itself. I find another familiar soul, Tori, as we are initiated through much tamer means. 

10:17: I successfully soothed many of the party with simple parlor tricks. I was amazed to see their reactions to such grossly simplified illusions. Commentary included everything from approving whispers to the loud and rambunctious: “Hoy Shit! That was awesome! The freshman knows magic!” 

10:35: We leave the party. My companions have donned the roll of the natives rather well. I have managed to retain sense of the situation…At least when the song “Call Me Maybe” isn’t being blasted within the transport vehicle. Then I can’t help myself. My body seems to move on its own.

11:05: We have arrived at Ebor and are preparing to enter one of the environments here in the Jungle called “Czar.” We only have time enough for one trip for… Holy Shit that line is huge! Do we seriously have to wait in that thing? We won’t get in until, like, midnight! 

Mike Z: Yeah, but if that happens we’ll just duck out into the over 21 line. Or at least we will. We’ll see you inside.

Me: Goddamnit I’m going to lose my guide.

11:30: I am casually talking to members on the team including Charles, Tori, other Tory (girl then guy, respectively), Lewis, and Mike. We try to talk about our planned activities and… And seriously, what the hell? This line has moved maybe ten meters in the last half hour!

11:57: I have been marked by a native with an insignia indicating my inability to enjoy the rights of manhood in their tribe. I wonder how long it’ll take for this friggen marker to come off. Wait, what are they doing now? Stamping me, too? Don’t you think that’s a little overkih- Ooooh! It’s a hot air balloon! 

12:00: We have entered the Jungle. Traditional songs are playing and people dance in ways that I have never seen a human move. Not necessarily impressively but…wait? What the hell? Is that a stripper pole? Anyways, they’re moving like they’re from middle school some of them, but others have pretty sick moves.

12:05: I’m noticing changes in my behavior. It seems that the power of the group holds remarkable hold over my social actions and conscious decisions. It appears…that we get to climb up a ladder and dance up high? Dude! Sweet!

12:08: WOOOOOH! YEAH! THIS SONG IS FREAKIN’ AWESOME!!!

12:10: Tory: Dude! Check it out! *Unbuttoning his shirt* I’m shirtless! Woohoooo!

Mike Z: *punches me in the stomach lightly* This guy! I freakin’ love this guy!

Charles: *begins bootie dancing with Lewis*

Girls Team (entirety): *laughing* Wooooh!

Me: Hah! Freaking hysterical

12:20: *Tory and I standing on a higher platform, maybe a meter off the ground.*

Tory: Dude! Let’s do a split in middair!

Me: Sounds good bro! Let’s do it! Yaaaaaah!

*Proceeds to somehow pull of split*

12:35:

Tori: Look at that break dance circle!

Me: Psh. ‘S nothing. Watch.

*Proceeds to walk into circle and go into a horizontal plank, into a perfect headstand, twists down all to the rhythm and beat of the song, and leaves as the crowd roars in approval*

Tori: *nodding approvingly* Nice.

12:40: Mike Z: IT’S MY BIRTTTTTTHHHHHHDDAAAAAY!

1:05: JUMP, JUMP, JUMP, JUMP! *bwah-waaaaaaing! bwah-waaaaaing!*

1:07: Exiting Czar. Hah! Someone’s using the stripper pole!

1:08: Now looking for the teammates and… Did those assholes seriously leave us? What the hell man?!

1:10: Found teammates and acquired taxi. Success!

1:15: Stephanie calling me back. I’ve been texting her intermittently throughout the night and I called her when I stepped out to let her know I’m safe. She’s been out with her friends at a thing back home and she’s a little worried about me, making sure I’m ok and stuff. Such a sweetheart.

Me: Hey! I loveeeee youuuuuu!

Steph: *laughs* I love you too, baby. Glad to see you’re having a good time. 

1:30: Returned home. I’ve learned a lot from my expedition. But I’ll analyze the data later. Sleep sounds good. Sleep sounds really good.

2:00: Can’t sleep. Texted Stephanie to let her know I’m home safe. She had fun at her thing and she’s relieved and happy that I’m ok. I’m glad she had a good time. Texting Tori because she put a picture up on Facebook of the team waiting in line for Czar. I figure I might as well talk to her until I collapse. Steph fell asleep so Tori’s the only one I’m texting right now I guess. That was a hell of a night.

2:14: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

 

I’m still going over the preliminary data. As to what my hypothesis was, I don’t remember. I can give you a rudimentary conclusion, though. The Strobe-Light Jungle is a place where weird shit happens, you live in the moment, and you don’t question it. Where you enjoy yourself, keep a semblance of sense and moderation, and just dance the night away with people who are totally awesome. But you need to respect the Strobe- Light Jungle as it is an interesting habitat.

And seriously, when the hell are these marks on my hands going to come off?!

The Men in Black Don’t Play Around

24 Aug

This is equally applicable to the semi-fictitious characters played by Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones. I say semi-fictitous because there have actually been weird sights consisting of men in black suits in the general vicinity of UFO encounters since the 50’s (at least). In fact, that’s where the story tellers got the idea; the urban legend insisting that everything in life is an alien cover-up.

Anyways, I was actually referring to the Men in Black Suits known as the Secret Service. These guys are going all out here! I would say it’s ridiculous, but that really doesn’t quite cover the scope of everything. It’s honestly just batshit insane.

As you guys may or may not know (or simply may or may not give a damn about) the Republican National Convention is kicking off here in Tampa. Actually, it’s about a half mile away from the UT campus. Now I know, as a government and world affairs major I should be swooning. Hell the words “GOP Convention Within My General Vicinity” should give me, like, at least a fifth of an orgasm. No. If anything, it’s giving me the opposite. I have an anti-boner ladies and gentleman. If my girlfriend decided to drop by and strip naked for me, I’d have a hard time right now. The reason is pretty simple: It’s freaking crazy being this close!

First, we have the traffic. Now I know that the perennial traffic champion of the world is still China with that monstrous traffic jam a while back (remember? The one that lasted around three days?), but I think we can vie  for a legitimate second. There’s a nearby island (don’t remember the name) that’s a little too close to the RNC. So the Secret Service is doing traffic stops and random vehicle inspections. Makes sense. The issue is, what was once a five-minute drive has turned into a 2-3 hour ordeal.

And people can’t decide to just up and swim across the damn river because theirs a friggen gunboat loaded with a .50 caliber machine gun ready to spit death and fire at anything that so much as looks at it funny!  

Not that anyone would really want to go in the river it’s cold, bleak, black, and really ominous. Except when the manatees come. They’re just like giant teddy bears, bringing magic to the desperate waters. Except instead of fluff, they’re made of blubber. Who doesn’t like to hug ginormous, copious amounts of animal fat for sheer entertainment? They’re especially fun to wrestle. In fact, I have a manatee grudge match coming up in the next week.

Long story.

There are rumors of anti-aircraft contingencies being readied. By that I don’t mean we’re going to put a bat signal-like device that either tells pilots to turn around or gives them the middle finger. Nope. We’re talking about freaking artillery. Supposedly, tanks are coming in to join the crowd. Would feel like martial law except there’s nothing important here in Tampa.

Except for the fact that it pretty much IS martial law. The secret service has direct control of the police and emergency services. I mean, everything is still running smoothly. And I think they learned their lesson about prostitutes so I seriously doubt they’re going to use the police force for anything too perverse.

You can’t get within a half mile of the conference hall without credentials. No joke.

You get within a half mile of the conference hall without credentials, you will be deported to the land of Mordor. Joke. Probably/maybe. That depends if they really have perfected going into the imagination like in South Park. And if they have, they should probably avoid the section called “Dino World.” I had a very fertile paleontological imagination when I was six. Just for their safety. Or more so their sanity. I thought up some weird shit when I was six.

After sitting down and carefully considering the circumstance I have come to this very somber conclusion.

Don’t mess with the secret service. Seriously. They don’t play around.

I would make a prostitution joke about that last line, but there’s a helicopter buzzing around overhead. And I’m a smart enough cookie to know that I may be able to wrestle a sea-cow, but I think the helicopter has the advantage.

 

Convocation, Relegation, In You are GO!

24 Aug

I’ve had a bit of a hankering for Serj Tankain for whatever reason. Great singer. His lyrics are weird as hell, but he makes them sound hypnotic. You know what I mean? Like, I would download the goddamn mewomix jingle if he sang it. I could only imagine it.

So as the title would suggest, I have been officially relegated to freshman status here at the University of Tampa! I know, very exciting. See, I would’ve considered myself a freshman after I paid this semester’s share of the bloody 35,000 dollars it takes to pay for two semesters of this school. On the other hand, if I’m paying more than a teacher makes in a year to come get a higher education, their had better be some damn pomp and circumstance.

And that’s exactly what awaited me today. apparently here at UT, they consider two ceremonies to be of the utmost importance. There’s, of course, commencement (commonly known as “graduation”) and then there’s something that I swear they made up on the spot called “convocation.” It turns out that a convocation means a gathering in latin, so it’s only sort of made up. No more so than supercalafragilisticespealladocious or however the fuck you spell that linguistic monstrosity.

So today, the entire freshman class was forced into the gym into such tight spaces sardines would start whining. We sat there for a few minutes with very few sources of entertainment except to stare out into space with the dazed look so commonly attributed to bored undergraduates. You should know me by now. I decided to expand my horizons.

“Ok,” I said to Emily, “He’s gay.”

Another kid next to me- who I really should learn your name, dude, you really are awesome! I just don’t remember names. I remember, however, it sounded Italian. So for this story, I shall dub thee Gepetto.

Anyways, Gepetto looked at us. “Seriously? Him? No I don’t think so.”

“Nope” Emily said offhandedly. “Not gay. See him over there. He is.”

“How can you tell?” I remarked.

“It’s the way he walks” she said. “We know how to pick each other out.”

“Ok. Her.”

“Oooh she’s cute.” Emily grinned. “So’s he.” She points to another guy towards the back of the incoming crowd. “But nope. Both straight.”

It was at this point, I think, Gepetto and I quit the game. We were clearly no match for Emily’s advantage.

But we still resisted the urge to just stare absent-mindedly into space. Instead, we stared absent-mindedly at my phone as I started up temple run. I got through maybe 2,500 meters when the band began to play and we were all told to rise.

The actual ceremony was really quite nice. We had a few speeches, none of which exceeded five minutes. There was only one that I could both admire and despise. One of the professors decided to make a speech parlaying weird and offsetting Harry Potter jokes. That part made me despise it. However, even when kids were awkwardly shifting in their seat and trying to pretend like they weren’t there, she kept on trucking, her gas tank clearly filled and her give-a-fuck o meter at empty. She even threw out a few funny zingers. In the end, much respect to her.

At the end we all signed our names into the ceremonial matricula for school enrollment. We were now part of a 81 year tradition. I guess it’s cool to be a part of a tradition that extensive, but what was really awesome was the new beginning. Starting with what was a pretty ballsy move by Emily and I.

We were dismissed and had free rein in the auditorium. We gave each other a knowing look and approached the exit. Standing there at the end of the hall was an older gentleman, with a distinguished stance that oozed confidence and academia. We both reached out our hands and shook his.

“Thank you, sir” I said, “for the address and the welcome.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you” Emily continued, “President Vaughn.”

That’s right. We shook the President of the university’s hand. Look me in the eye (or at least at the LED screen) and tell me that isn’t an awesome experience!

It makes me want to shimmy shimmy shimmy trrrthebreak of dawn, yeah.

How about you guys? Was your entry to college as bad ass? Leave a comment and tell your story!

I am the zombie… I am exhausted…

23 Aug

Koo-koo catchoo, right?

Whew, I couldn’t have ever anticipated how tiring college orientation could be. It’s been a few days and I feel like I’ve been run into the ground. Plus, I’ve been happily busy with a new freelance project, as well as a special, super secret project I’ve been doing for Caustic Cookies. The Caustic Cookies project is going to be revealed on the first of September. I guarantee, it’ll be something you guys will find to be incredibly awesome!

One of those things will be an RSS feed. Right now I don’t have a newsletter or an email thing going around. That’ll change in September. But I really can’t explain too much more! It’s a secret. A super secret awesome present to you guys! Think of it as an early birthday present. And if it’s already been your birthday, think of it as a REALLY early present for next year. Am I on the ball or what?

Today is the resuming of the two to three a day posts here on the site. I’ve been looking around campus for places for wi-fi connections so I can do them if I have any downtime in class. Turns out that the entire campus is pretty much a wi-fi hotspot, so I should be fine! Get ready for some awesomely caustic cookies!

I have been living as the walking dead for the last 72 hours. Exhaustion has plagued me like acne on a prom queen. I keep downing coffee, hoping for my next fix. I’m considering electroshock directly into the radial nerve. Maybe then I’ll be awake enough to laugh.

I am Jack’s tired eyes, barely seeing the ground as I shuffle through existence like some ancient Floridian grandfather, waiting for the next portal, the next realm. Hell, maybe even death. I’m so tired I don’t even care.

I black in. I realize that I’m now sitting next to a blond chick from my cross-country team. Her name is Tori. Nice enough girl I think. She laughs at the jokes I make during the campus showing of the Avengers. Either that or she’s just as mesmerized by Robert Downy Jr.’s beard as I am. What a magnificent creature. The beard not the girl. Although, she seems like she’s cool enough I guess. We were both just clumped in with the rest of the freshmen and were just mutually relieved to find a familiar face.

The last thing I remember is sitting zombified during the Honors orientation. I was asking for a bunch of xanax to take a nap during the yawning lecture. I get a buzz in my shorts. I fantasize that it’s an electrode jolting me awake. No. It’s a text from my girlfriend, Stephanie. I smile. It’s probably the only thing that makes me smile  in the entire presentation.

Snap back to the theater. Tori’s now fixated on Thor’s biceps when she’s not texting her boyfriend. I roll my eyes. I’m about to leave the theater and this freshman congregation anyways. I have somewhere to be, but where? Where?

Next thing I realize is that I’m walking towards the Rathskeller. I have a faint memory of telling Tori that I was ducking out to go do something else I planned. I was composing a message to Stephanie. She had texted me back. I smiled again. Love can make a zombie smile after all. I don’t remember if I sent a reply or not.  I think I did, looking back on it. I kept walking.

I am Jack’s forgetful mind. Filled with dementia like a Floridian…

Wait…

That sounded familiar…

“Congratulations!” I hear. I look around. I’m in a dinky little dank room that had to have been an old speakeasy. I look down and I see a bunch of papers with trivia information on it as well as a pencil.

I am Jack’s fucking confused Grandfather. From Florida. Who relies on the familiarity in redundancy because I am utterly lost.

“Here’s your $50 dollar gift Visa Gift card! Congratulations on winning round two of the trivia with your perfect score of 125!”

A camera flashes. My confusion is now at a boiling point.

I wake up with the weird desire to turn on my TV and pop in fight club. I shrug it off, go back to bed, and hope that I won’t wake up as disjointed.

Anime Addiction

21 Aug

I think I have a problem. I am seriously addicted to anime…

First, don’t even assume I’m talking about hentai That’s a completely separate addiction and I really don’t feel the need to get an intervention for that one.

*Note: Author does not really watch hentai. He sticks to the same flesh and blood, unrealistic garbage that floats around the Internet instead of the animated, unrealistic garbage that floats around the Internet.

I realized that I had a problem when I started watching Full Metal Alchemist. Full Metal is my second favorite anime of all time. Bleach is my favorite, by the way. But FMA is seriously awesome! It had been years since I had seen an episode of the show and I remembered bits and pieces of the plot but I couldn’t remember the intricacies. Hell, I couldn’t even remember Alfred Elric’s name. I just remembered Edwards because everyone called him a midget and he always flipped a shit. I thought it was hysterical.

But I started watching and not only did the memories start coming back to me, but something new started to arise within me. I started appreciating the show for the story itself, not just for the kick-ass alchemical reactions.

Within 5 days, I had watched 12 episodes. Not bad, right? In the next 3, I finished the series. A whopping 40 fucking episodes. I think the only thing stopping me from watching more is the fact that I thought it was the end. I thought I had kicked my addiction…

But now I just learned that there were two more series following the FMA idea! So my addiction was less of a triumphant story about a man’s last drink in his house and him never going out to buy another as it was a darkly comical story of a man’s last drink before realizing he had another friggen keg in the kitchen.

Two series, a bunch of questions, and only 24 hours in a day!

It’s going to be a while until I go into withdrawal, I can promise that!

The Alarm Clock is Not My Friend

20 Aug

*Ring Ring Ring*

Grumble, grumble. Where’s that snooze button? What time is it anyways? 5:00? Shit. Screw that.

I see a bright light. I’m wandering into a paradise. Cookies lining the ground and the air is literally cotton candy. No matter how many sweets I eat, I can’t gain a pound. Somehow, all my dietary concerns don’t matter. In fact, there’s this weird assurance that I’ll get even faster if I eat it. I reach out and touch it, time moving slow as molasses. The ecstasy of anticipation, I want that fluff candy goodness in my mouth. The rush of the sugar coursing through my veins. Yet I tentatively reach for it, as if it’s a delicate treasure. I pinch it, my mouth watering. Eating it isn’t my intention. Savoring every incredible second is.

All of a sudden the cookies begin to crumble to the sound of a blaring alarm. 

“It’s a trap!” General Akbar’s voice rings out. I don’t question it. I try to escape as the sirens wail and the paradise around me crumbles.


*Ring Ring Ring*

Huh? What. Fuck! Seriously! I internalized the alarm clock? What time is it now? 5:05? Why? Why Me?

Darkness. Quick, penetrating darkness. I can’t see I can’t hear. But I’m not afraid. I’m engulfed, but protected. I’m ok. I’m safe. I fear nothing, I feel nothing. I am content. I am in peace. Peaceful. But it’s too peaceful. Surely some sound must exist? Or do I not? What happened to me? Where am I? Where can I find the light?!

I open my eyes and look at the clock. 5:50. Crap! Practice starts in twenty-five minutes! Let’s see, I have a ten minute walk, so that leaves me fifteen to just get my shorts, go to the bathroom, get my shoes ready, make my gatorade and…wait…why didn’t this thing continue to beep after the second snooze? It’s supposed to go off again after a few minutes and stay on.

I swear to God, that thing grew a troll face and looked at me:

“Problem?”

I bolt awake. 5:45. Alright. That was kinda freaky. I get my stuff and go run 9 miles with the team.  At least now I know I’m awake.

I am…right?

…But Ne’er a Drop to Drink

19 Aug

For some reason, today seems to be following an aquaphilic pattern…

I went out to the trail with the rest of the UT cross country team and the first thing I knew is that it was going to be wet. Very. Very. Wet. The grass didn’t so much glisten with the dew of dawn as much as it was inundated with the flood of Noah. Giant puddles filled spaces where Earth naturally belonged, water dripped from the trees with the annoying predictability off a leaking faucet. I looked around and knew that I sure as hell wasn’t in Kansas anymore…but I could’ve definetely ridden a hurricane into the everglades.

Stretch out. Do a few plyometric drills. Stretch out some more. All the while I used the dripping of the trees as a metronome. Three drips for a stretch, two for a plyometric move, only one to set me on the path to early morning insanity.

My teammate Tori (at least I think that’s how you spell his name. Hell if I actually know. I’ve only been here for roughly 48 hours) mentioned something about a pond that could’ve sheltered a megaladon. He has a way of summing something up in a facile manner:

“Shit. Trail’s going to be wet.”

But unlike this morning, there wouldn’t be any to drink. I don’t care how thirsty I am, I would rather guzzle the tap water back at home than drink from one of those puddles. So I guess I’ll rescind my statement about it being the worst water ever. *Note. There is now a new qualifier. Worst Drinking Water Ever. 

The run got underway. Surprisingly, it was pretty dry. I mean, as dry as it gets in Florida. We’re talking about a state that you could probably drown in if the humidity approached the right density. But other than that, yeah, it was the Floridian equivalent to the Mojave desert.

It left me confused. How could this be? Was this water just a mass hallucination? Maybe the downhill location of the start made it worse than it really was? Of the two, the latter is the most probable. But I wouldn’t put it passed a few guys to slip something into the Gatorade (Kidding!…Kidding…sure….kidding……) 

We continued a slight ascent until we reached the wooded area. My expectation was for the humidity to just erupt, but it didn’t. It was a marginal increase, but the overall saturation wasn’t unbearable. We continued onward for about two miles.

And nothing happened. Still dry.

A mile after that though, that’s when muck hit the fans. Or at the least, the bottom of our trainers. But the spatter was still horrendous. Halfway through the run, we all looked like we had just murdered a mud-walker. I don’t know if mud-walkers are actual creatures- if not I’m inventing it. I still have no idea how some of the stuff got to where it did. I mean some things are meant to be non-intruded in the span of a man’s life…

My inner ear. Perverts. Get your minds out of the gutter. Seriously though, I need a physicist who’s an expert in scatter-theory to explain how this glop could fly into the depths of my ear canal. If it hit the external acoustic meatus (big, outside flappy thing that we commonly call the “ear”) I would understand. No. This went straight into the ear!

We sullied through the mud and through the standing water. In theory, the mud should dirty us, the water should clean us. Endless repeat. Except the mud dirtied us, the water merely spread it, and it repeated over the course of thousands of steps. Man, reality’s a bitch. But we trudged through because we’re distance runners. You may also have heard of us called something different: total badasses. We accept either moniker. 

Eventually, we approached a boardwalk. 

“Finally!” I thought. “Some relief for my aching quads!” 

For those who haven’t had the pleasant experience of moving through water, it becomes unpleasant because of your shoes and socks. Like all absorbent matter, it has a saturation point. The mass of the liquid combines with that of the fabric and presto! Through simple adhesion, you now feel like you’re carrying Gabriel Igleasias’ fluff. 

“Solid land” I thought fervently. “Solid land! Solid-“

Slip! I had to recover my balance, barely stumbling into a guide rail. I had completely forgotten what happens when you mix wet wood and soaked, worn down running shoes. Congratulations! You’ve taken up ice-skating!

If I had the will and a few moments to spare, I could’ve slid along without lifting my feet. Would it have been impracticle? Of course? Would it have been totally bitchin’ as I completed a triple sow-cow? Oh yeah.

And now we were halfway.

On the way back, I knew we had to face the same kind of condition as before. I might enjoy a challenge, but on long runs the weight of an extra ounce alone causes a lot of wear and tear. Bill Bowerman once theorized that an extra ounce on a shoe equated to 55 extra POUNDS of lifting power over the course of a mile. I was going 13 and there was a hell of a lot more than an ounce in my shoes. 

I was stuck in a dilemma. But then, as it oddly does, physics came to my rescue.

A man who wasn’t associated with my team was running right in front of me, sloshing through water without regard for how wet he got. It appeared that, magically, he was all out of fucks to give. His stride was heavy, his cadence was quick, he struck the ground with his heel, transporting a force equivalent to four times his body weight into the water covered earth. I knew that if I followed close enough behind him, matched his stride length and rhythm perfectly, I could harness the forces he used and Fucking run on water! That’s right! I could achieve running Jesus!

Ok. So maybe I wouldn’t be running on water exactly, but that’s the point. I could seriously save some energy and effort if I exploited the natural tendencies of water while utilizing the force of the gentleman in front of me. 

Water in incompressible. Now to make sure you read that right, I will first explain that it is not incomprehensible. Phonetically somewhat similar; however their denotations are completely different. We comprehend and understand water just fine. It’s because of this knowledge that I understood that it is incompressible. Meaning, it can’t be compressed. Due to the molecular structure of water, you can’t compress it down like you could with a cornmeal water mixture. When that happens, you can compress that and, if done quickly, it’ll become a temporary solid! Neat, huh?

(SCIENCE BITCHES!)

Due to this attribute, water is merely displaced when you try to stand on it. I.e, it is moved out of the spot that you’re standing in. Now, let’s say something the size of a foot tries to move on water; and this foot-shaped item (that may or not be an actual foot), is coming down with a tremendous force (maybe, 4 times a certain front runner’s body-weight). What would you think happens? 

Water freaking explodes up and out. In fact, these homophones will adequately explain the process:

splash, woosh, gurgle, shit-bro-that-got-in-my-mouth!

Now water will return to that location within a split second, it’s just the nature of the downhill slope. But for that fraction of a second, just after impact, there’s nothing there but dry ground. So for a good half-mile, I followed this man’s every footstep through the water, moving close to him so as to get that slight relief from the flood. 

Perhaps a little too close because he took off after that. I think that having someone mirror your steps for a half-mile, shadowing you closer than your actual shadow, might be a bit unnerving for some. But still. My shoes were a bit drier and my sole (soul) a bit lighter. 

After the run was over, I thought I was done with this new-found nemesis that is undrinkable Tampa water. But no…it resurected into a form I couldn’t possibly resist…

Watermelon! Hey, I never said inedible Tampa water.

And might I say, it was delicious. After it’s all been said and done, I think it’s better to be acquainted with the filtered liquid to my right. It’s better than just having water…water everywhere-

But ne’er a drop to drink!