High School Reunion and the Duality of Man Part. 2

Once I was as comfortably settled as I could be, in my 45 dollar patch of sod, with a strangely suburban scenic view, chalk full of camping weekend warriors, sitting, fat, outside of their 100, 000 dollar RVs, or their 300 dollar a night cabin rental, I lit a fire.  The 6 dollar bundle of wood I bought from the nicest KOA inmate on the block at the front desk was still green, and a little bit damp, maybe it was from the Ohio humidity sucking the moisture straight from the chopped and split oak logs, and then plunging the wet nap of the air into our pores forcing out every evil dirt particle that had been trapped in there, begging to get squirt out, or maybe it was because it had rained before they packaged it.       The possibilities are endless… really…  endless.
The dark night started to engulf the sky around 8:30 p.m.  
Fun fact, Ohio is on Eastern Time; fun side fact, that means it’s not a member of the beloved Midwest.  Let’s hear it Midwesterners: 
OH NO!  HECK NO!
OHIO MUST GO!
Or we could just sit back and watch the greed and the hatred of the country destroy it self until it slowly moves in on us. Like the random scene in A New Hope, where Luke Skywalker gets attacked by a telescoping eye, that is green skinned, unbelievably large, yet nearly impossible to shoot, beat, stab, kick, or punch, even though you are locked up in a trash compactor with 2 other people AND A GAD DUMB SASQUATCH, growling at the top of it lungs — or maybe…Cry—-ing?  It’s hard to tell, I’m not fluent in Wookie —  while lasers, from your laser gun, are ricocheting around the laser armored trash compactor.  
Midwesterners, we are Luke Skywalker in this analogy, the rest of the country trying to claim rights to our beloved region is all the shit that was with Luke Skywalker in this analogy.  Ohio is part of the Eastern timezone, therefore it is not the Midwest.  Ohio can be the Mideast if it would like, although considering the condition of the Middle East at this point in time, you may not want to be confused with them.  They just aren’t part of the Midwest. 

If you think it’s weird that I had to explain that, you are a Midwestern, that has never lived outside of the Midwest… I promise this is necessary to explain.  People try and put random states into our beloved region.  We have to sensibly let them know.  It doesn’t have to be a protest, it can just be a conversation over a beer, of course if Ohio is the host, expect a lot of Yeungling.

I was finally starting to get comfy, then what sounded like a herd of leaf blowers galloping in a circular formation in a brick alleyway, started humming a tune off in the distance.  I thought it was odd, but I didn’t think much of it….for the first 5 minutes, but nearly an hour later, when the herd was upon me, I was concerned.  I pulled out my smart phone, while holding one ear shut to try and block out the static of the terrifying scene that was unfolding around me, and I searched, “Buck Eye Lake.”  The search results revealed, that the State of Ohio had issued a warning for the Buck Eye Lake area, because there were high traces of a toxic algae containing a liver poison that it naturally creates.  So, I got a little heated.  I cursed the damn campground one more time.  I spit in the fire and kicked my camping chair.  

This was a bad day of camping.  The herd of leaf blowers ended up being a pickup truck driving around the lake with a device that was blowing out a mist of some foul smelling chemical.  I wondered if it was mosquito repellent, but, it turns out, the truck was owned by the Ohio health department.  Which means they were blowing out pesticides to kill the toxic algae or maybe it was a large amount of anti-biotics and steroids and mood stabilizers and pharmaceutical grade cocaine.
The possibilities are endless… really… endless.

That’s when I walked to the bar down the road from the campground.  I was greeted by a man with no teeth, dressed like a mannequin in Macy’s in front of the Tommy Bahama display.  Swinging a bag of Cheetos in one hand and a Yeungling bottle in the other.  

“How you doin’ bud?” He rasped at me with a gummy delivery.
“I’m alright, how bout your self?”
“Huh?!”
“Are you having a a good time tonight?”  I repeated my self, sorta.
“Oh, hell yeah!  It’s always a great day at Scooner’s.  You want a Cheeto?”  He lunged the bag in my direction.
“Nah, I don’t like cheese much.”  I told the truth, “I’m going to go grab a drink.”
“Alright.”  He mumbled as he jolted in the direction of a group of people walking behind me.  I bet he tried the same pitch on them?

I walked in on a Karaoke night.  It was sort of like the first time you walked in on your parents.  You’re confused at first, then maybe a little scared, but ultimatley, you are grossed out.  The Karaoke night at Scooner’s was just like that.  It didn’t stop me from getting entertained by an off pitch- and shrill version of Dido’s “White Flag.”  So, maybe it wasn’t all that bad.

The hefty girl, that maybe had one to many vodka cranberries, gave it her all, but sometimes people are just not good at things.  It’s ok, find a new strength, or disregard everyone and become the next Bob Dylan, or Jimi Hendrix or Taylor Swift, maybe like them, you will grow into your voice and find where it sounds the best.  Even though a complicated song like “White Flag” is not your forte, you will create really witty stories, and super catchy hooks, and maybe even a killer guitar riff.  Then you will be famous and be all over the news, and magazines, and TMZ, and red carpet events where you get to chum around with all the other people that didn’t think that had the right “stuff,” or maybe they were just told that once by some sensitive and caring blogger, that just wanted you to know that, 

You shouldn’t give up on your dream, but stop singing songs by Dido in public.   

The possibilities are endless… really… endless.  

I stayed for a couple more songs, talked to a different girl, trying to explain the difference between a lager and a pilsner, and then she accused me of being a beer snob, because I don’t like Blue Moon.  The conversation was brief and violent, but she introduced me to a great beer called Buddha Beer, they had it at Scooner’s for 5 bucks a bottle so I bought one and agreed to share it.  I asked for a glass, poured about half the bottle in to the glass and handed her back the green bottle shaped like, you GUESSED IT, BUDDHA!  Then she walked away and I finished my beer alone, and walked out of the bar and went back to my campsite.  My fire ring still had some embers in it from that time I was finally coming to terms with my situation and leave it be, because it was only for a night, but then the Health Department tried to force chemicals down my throat, so I burned the rest of my wood and hit the sack.
Fun fact, I have a one person tent; fun side fact, it’s military issued and it slightly resembles a sack — as in a body sack in the shape of a coffin.  Or maybe it is just a really discreet tent that wouldn’t draw any attention or stick out on a battle field somewhere in the Mideast…err….Middle East… and anyone lucky enough to be issued this tent is the lone survivor in a terrible ambush from some enemy, or maybe just some wild animal, like a coyote, or a camel, or a….pack of rabid snakes, or maybe the enemy and the pack of rabid snakes are one in the same, but because they were issued the small coffin shaped, body bag, they are the only person that survives because they were tucked away in their small, discreet tent. 

The possibilities are endless… really… endless.

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