Thursday, September 18, 2008

Little Jeffy is A Dick

     Company, I am here with some shocking news.  Well, I lied.  It's not really shocking at all.  But I am here to tell you that Little Jeffy is a dick.  And I am going to enter into evidence as Exhibit 1 a story about the time we went camping.
     Yeah, I went camping with Little Jeffy.  I know, that was a bad decision on my part.  But he likes camping and I like camping and we both had the same days off so off we went.  We went to a place called Big Eric's Bridge, where there is a nice State Forest campground with some pit toilets and a hand pump for water.  I am not going to lie, I picked it because it's pretty far off the beaten path, and people often piss me off, so I figured that it would be mostly empty.  And it was.  So that was good.
     We got there on the first night and set up camp.  It was nothing special as far as camps go, but it had all the prerequisites, like a tent, a fire, a cooler.  Little Jeffy had this weird hammock-tent thing that he strung up between two trees, no big deal.  Everything was going okay, we got the fire going and were preparing some dinner.  I decided to head off to the bathroom and that's when it started.
     I was pelted maliciously with gravel.  It was being thrown at me from behind with reckless abandon by who else?  That dick Little Jeffy.  I was struck across the shoulder and the back of my head with billions of tiny projectiles like I was hit with bird shot or something.  Thank God I was wearing my hooded sweatshirt and had the hood up at the time.  Otherwise I may have been killed.  So anyway, I was hit in the shoulder, and it spun me around in slow motion, with the force of the shot spinning me around so I went twirling to the ground like a WWII-era fighter plane that was hit during a dogfight over the South Pacific.  Okay, that never really happened.  But I may as well have.  Because I was a victim.
     I shrugged it off though.  I am tough.  I had my hood up.  I went to the bathroom and came back and finished up the night's festivities.  I shrugged it off like it was no big deal, even though a lesser man would have finished his night lying in the dirt weeping and begging someone to tell his wife that he loves her.  Yeah, I don't go in for that stuff unless there is gunfire or a deep stab wound involved.  Or maybe an explosion of some sort.  But not for some stones.  What happened to me the next day is enough to make anyone beg for someone to send their last letters home as they lay dying in a field of spring wheat.
    Day Two dawned and I decided that I wanted to go swimming.  One problem: although a river goes by Big Eric's Bridge there is no beach.  There isn't even a swimming hole.  All there is is a series of small rapids and waterfalls.  Not even big enough to take a kayak or raft through.  But just perfect for climbing through and lying around in like a hippo in the African savanna.  So that is what I set out to do.  But Little Jeffy wasn't all about that.  I don't think he likes to get wet because he never goes in the water and he rarely showers.  So I was frolicking in the water and he was wandering around on the shore.  Eventually I sat down, cross-legged like Buddha, in the middle of a small pool.  It was probably twenty yards across from bank to bank, nothing too big.  As I was playing innocently in the shallow pool, Little Jeffy, true to form, decided to start throwing rocks at me again.  But this time no gravel.  No handfulls of bird shot.  He was throwing large stones at me.  Not boulders or anything, but stones about an inch or two across.  
     I hate to do it but I have to give the guy some credit.  He was throwing deadly projectiles at me but he was taking pains not to hit me.  He was throwing them across my proverbial bow but missing wide right or way over my head.  I am thinking he didn't want to hurt me.  Or maybe he wanted to confuse me.  Or maybe he just has shitty aim, I don't know.  But he wasn't hitting me.  So I am yelling at him, and staring at him, and he takes a rock, rears back, and tosses it over my head.
     This is where it gets interesting.  The rock travels over my head, but I think Little Jeffy threw it a little harder than he realized and it made it all the way across the river.  And across the river was a big boulder.  Some of you, yes, you can see where this is going.  So the rock goes way over my head, and I don't even turn to watch it's flight.  It hits off the boulder, comes back, and cracks me in the back of the head.  Yeah, he tried to take me out with a deflected projectile.  
     That's not even the best part.  Later, as we relived the horrifying attack on my person, Little Jeffy told me that as he watched the rock fly though the air and strike off the boulder he thought "Oh man, that's going to hit him."  Yet he did nothing about it!  No warning.  Not a head's up.  Not a "FORE!"  Not even a sort of straining or sympathetic moaning sound.  NOTHING!  He just let me get hit in the head with a rock.  
    So there I sit, stunned, possibly with a concussion.  And Little Jeffy was just laughing.  He may have even laughed so hard that he peed his pants.  I don't know, you'd have to check with him.  But he was laughing pretty hard.  I, of course, was stunned.  I just kept holding the back of my head and saying, in an incredulous voice, "You hit me in the head.  You hit me in the head with a rock."  And he just laughed.  His dog Kit, who is also a dick, just continued to sniff the river bank.  Well I had to do something to get him back, right?
     Well, there wasn't much that I could do.  I admit, looking back, what had happened on the river that day was pretty awesome.  Even though I was a victim on a scale that has never been seen since.  But I knew that I had to do something.  All I could come up with was, as he was standing there laughing, I pulled my hand away from my head, looked at it, and said "I'm bleeding."
     I wasn't bleeding.  But that dick Little Jeffy stopped laughing immediately.  The look on his face was priceless.  "You are?"  He was suddenly concerned.  So I fessed up that no, I wasn't bleeding.  I know, that wasn't as awesome as him hitting me in the back of the head with a rock, but it was all I had to offer at that moment.  And it made me get back to evening things up.  
     Well, the rest of the trip went well.  I actually had a good time camping with Little Jeffy.  That's how you know for sure that I had a concussion.  Just kidding.  But, for as much fun as we had, I didn't let him forget how he maimed me for the rest of the time.  And we still don't forget to this very day.  Because, well, it WAS kind of cool.  And of course because Little Jeffy is a dick.

1 comment:

KingBobb said...

Actually, everytime the incredulous statements of "You hit me in the back of the head!" were being uttered, I laughed even harder. Every time. So yes, yes, I am a dick. However, that makes you a dick in training big guy. Because we left graffiti pertaining to David Nathaniel's mother on some rocks out thataway. And then sent the Pharoah 2 hours from home to find it to be rewarded with a case of beer.

Good times, good times....