So one Friday night, I was at a girls house that I had a pretty good shot of getting horizontal with and her step-father decided he wanted to show me home movies of his hunting trip to Africa. This was in 1976 or 1978 so the video quality was pretty poor. The movie showed him sitting in a chair on the front of an air boat like they had on the tv show Gentle Ben. Remember Gentle Ben? Late '60s tv show with Ron and Clint Howard and a bear named Gentle Ben? They wandered around the Florida everglades saving lost children and putting criminals in jail. Anyway, they had an airboat in that show and it looked like the one my new best friend was sitting in, holding a gin and tonic in one hand and a small cannon in the other. You could tell he was half lit because he was waving his drink around, spilling most of it on his pants. It looked like he pissed himself, because his safari pants had a big wet spot from belt to knees, but, to be fair, I think no more than half of it was gin and the other half was sweat. I heard Africa can be hot and maybe this jackass sweated a lot in the crotch.
The
guy was wearing the same clothes that the guys in movies wear when
they hunt in Africa. It's always the same gear, khaki colored pants,
khaki colored shirt, khaki colored jacket with a khaki colored belt.
And a khaki pith helmet. My new best friend with the movie projector
and the hot step-daughter is costumed in clothes that are perfectly
clean and pressed, except for the sweaty gin stain around the crotchal region. In the middle of the African bush. This jerk
couldn't wear jeans and a t-shirt, he had to drop two thousand bucks on authentic safari gear to help him suck down a quart of gin.
Like I said, the guy was sitting in a lawn chair, in the forward end of an air boat. There were some local guides in the water up to their armpits, holding the boat still so they could get the film shot. Those guys were wearing t-shirts and I kind of felt sorry for them. They were probably lucky to have jobs and I bet they were thankful for it but as far as I could tell from the home movie, they had no responsibility other than holding both the camera and the boat while they stood in the water so that the drunk, khaki wearing Americano could show off his elephant gun and slosh a gin and tonic around.
His wife snuck into the film at one point, she had the same crap on, except she added a pastel blue scarf around her neck. She even had an elephant gun that matched her husbands elephant gun and it outweighed her by twenty pounds, but I don't think the guide trusted her with real bullets because she was leaning on the gun like it was a crutch. She tucked her armpit into the stock of the gun and leans on it with one arm. A beautiful three thousand dollar hand made rifle and she gets drunk and sticks the muzzle into an aluminum bottomed boat and leans on it, flailing her gin and tonic around in time to her husbands gin and tonic gyration.
There wasn't any audio in the film, but you didn't need any because my host makes me sit in a chair while he stands behind me to watch his home horror movie, pouring the same gin and tonic down the back of my shirt, narrating the film. The longer the film ran, the more excited he got.
The film starts...
“We spent seventy five hundred bucks just to get there! This is the real bush! I had to pay twenty guys to carry our luggage and let me tell you, those guys will steal the shirt right off of your back! I had to get one of our guides straightened out. I fired his ass, Steve, you bet I did!" At this point, my host's eyes sort of rolled back in his head as he relived the act of firing a guy who carried boxes on his back without shoes for fifty cents a day. My host was a real humanitarian.
"He would have stolen the diamond tennis bracelet right off of Lucille's wrist if I let him, let me tell you and we are in the... Oh wait, look at this Steve, this is where we are. Just look at it! That's me right there, Steve! There I am, right there!" My host points emphatically at the screen with an empty glass.
"Mike. Not Steve, Mike."
"Do you need a refill, Steve? Are you a gin man? Of course you are."
I am sixteen years old, trying to take his stepdaughter out in my car and get her pants off and he is feeding me gin. He has me sitting on one of those three legged stools that you might have used in gradeschool while he stands right behind me. His head is right behind my head and he keeps breathing on my neck, putting his thumb and fingers on top of my melon to turn it back to the screen so I can properly view the film. He hits me in the ear with his elbow and gestures at the screen with his recently refreshed gin and tonic, pouring some down my front. Now it looks like I pissed myself, but it's not all gin. Some of it is sweat. Really.
I asked “How long were you there? I mean how much luggage did you have that you need twenty guys to carry it?”
He didn't hear me. Froth is starting to fly off his mouth to mix in with the gin in my lap. “We just stumbled on this sumbitch right there! That was something, we were there, and it was hot! Hot! You don't know because you weren't there Steve, but it was hot! We were in that boat all day then I spotted him. Would you believe that I spotted him without binoculars Steve?” He loudly sucks some more gin out of his 16 ounce big gulp gin dispenser cup. “He was all alone and I spotted him! Just look at that big sumbitch! And let me tell you...these water buffalo are dangerous! They kill more people than lions! More than lions, Steve! More than lions!”
“Just call me Ishmael.” I don't think he hear me.
"Bottoms up Steve, lets refill now, because this is where it gets good. Just look at 'im! Isn't he something?". My host's heart is going to give out any second. I start to wonder if his video camera is handy. Maybe I can film this guy having a heart attack.
At this point, the film shows my new best gin drinking buddy, sitting in the air boat, with his gun out ready to shoot something. If he drank more, I might get lucky and he could take a chunk out of the bottom of the boat. In the film, his wife brings him a new pitcher of gin, using her weapon as a crutch. The air boat is moving through two or three feet of water, barely moving, bumping up against a water buffalo. The water buffalo has his ass against a barbed wire fence and he is breathing really hard. It's obvious that the buffalo has run for as long as a buffalo can run. Maybe it ran for ten minutes, maybe it was ten hours, the film didn't show that part, but that thing that sticks in my mind is they ran that buffalo down with the air boat until it couldn't run any more. The buffalo was dropping its head while his sides heaved for air. He was completely out of energy. It couldn't hold its head up and it kept dipping its nostrils into the water. When it did that, it tried to breath and it choked. Some reflex caused it to jerk its head up so it could catch one more breath, then its head started to droop again. It just didn't have the energy to hold its head out of the water to breath.
“OK, now watch! Here it is!” He holds his breath, right behind my ear and watches himself pull up his elephant gun and puts a three inch hole through the buffalo's head.
Today I ran fourteen miles and I felt like the buffalo, but without the benefit of the merciful end. My new indian name is 'Merciless Water Buffalo'. I ran the first ten miles. The last four miles, a guy pushing a baby carriage passed me. Twice.
Yesterday I rode 85, today I ran 14, tomorrow I swim for an hour and a half. Merciless Water Buffalo.
His wife snuck into the film at one point, she had the same crap on, except she added a pastel blue scarf around her neck. She even had an elephant gun that matched her husbands elephant gun and it outweighed her by twenty pounds, but I don't think the guide trusted her with real bullets because she was leaning on the gun like it was a crutch. She tucked her armpit into the stock of the gun and leans on it with one arm. A beautiful three thousand dollar hand made rifle and she gets drunk and sticks the muzzle into an aluminum bottomed boat and leans on it, flailing her gin and tonic around in time to her husbands gin and tonic gyration.
There wasn't any audio in the film, but you didn't need any because my host makes me sit in a chair while he stands behind me to watch his home horror movie, pouring the same gin and tonic down the back of my shirt, narrating the film. The longer the film ran, the more excited he got.
The film starts...
“We spent seventy five hundred bucks just to get there! This is the real bush! I had to pay twenty guys to carry our luggage and let me tell you, those guys will steal the shirt right off of your back! I had to get one of our guides straightened out. I fired his ass, Steve, you bet I did!" At this point, my host's eyes sort of rolled back in his head as he relived the act of firing a guy who carried boxes on his back without shoes for fifty cents a day. My host was a real humanitarian.
"He would have stolen the diamond tennis bracelet right off of Lucille's wrist if I let him, let me tell you and we are in the... Oh wait, look at this Steve, this is where we are. Just look at it! That's me right there, Steve! There I am, right there!" My host points emphatically at the screen with an empty glass.
"Mike. Not Steve, Mike."
"Do you need a refill, Steve? Are you a gin man? Of course you are."
I am sixteen years old, trying to take his stepdaughter out in my car and get her pants off and he is feeding me gin. He has me sitting on one of those three legged stools that you might have used in gradeschool while he stands right behind me. His head is right behind my head and he keeps breathing on my neck, putting his thumb and fingers on top of my melon to turn it back to the screen so I can properly view the film. He hits me in the ear with his elbow and gestures at the screen with his recently refreshed gin and tonic, pouring some down my front. Now it looks like I pissed myself, but it's not all gin. Some of it is sweat. Really.
I asked “How long were you there? I mean how much luggage did you have that you need twenty guys to carry it?”
He didn't hear me. Froth is starting to fly off his mouth to mix in with the gin in my lap. “We just stumbled on this sumbitch right there! That was something, we were there, and it was hot! Hot! You don't know because you weren't there Steve, but it was hot! We were in that boat all day then I spotted him. Would you believe that I spotted him without binoculars Steve?” He loudly sucks some more gin out of his 16 ounce big gulp gin dispenser cup. “He was all alone and I spotted him! Just look at that big sumbitch! And let me tell you...these water buffalo are dangerous! They kill more people than lions! More than lions, Steve! More than lions!”
“Just call me Ishmael.” I don't think he hear me.
"Bottoms up Steve, lets refill now, because this is where it gets good. Just look at 'im! Isn't he something?". My host's heart is going to give out any second. I start to wonder if his video camera is handy. Maybe I can film this guy having a heart attack.
At this point, the film shows my new best gin drinking buddy, sitting in the air boat, with his gun out ready to shoot something. If he drank more, I might get lucky and he could take a chunk out of the bottom of the boat. In the film, his wife brings him a new pitcher of gin, using her weapon as a crutch. The air boat is moving through two or three feet of water, barely moving, bumping up against a water buffalo. The water buffalo has his ass against a barbed wire fence and he is breathing really hard. It's obvious that the buffalo has run for as long as a buffalo can run. Maybe it ran for ten minutes, maybe it was ten hours, the film didn't show that part, but that thing that sticks in my mind is they ran that buffalo down with the air boat until it couldn't run any more. The buffalo was dropping its head while his sides heaved for air. He was completely out of energy. It couldn't hold its head up and it kept dipping its nostrils into the water. When it did that, it tried to breath and it choked. Some reflex caused it to jerk its head up so it could catch one more breath, then its head started to droop again. It just didn't have the energy to hold its head out of the water to breath.
“OK, now watch! Here it is!” He holds his breath, right behind my ear and watches himself pull up his elephant gun and puts a three inch hole through the buffalo's head.
Today I ran fourteen miles and I felt like the buffalo, but without the benefit of the merciful end. My new indian name is 'Merciless Water Buffalo'. I ran the first ten miles. The last four miles, a guy pushing a baby carriage passed me. Twice.
Yesterday I rode 85, today I ran 14, tomorrow I swim for an hour and a half. Merciless Water Buffalo.
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