Disclaimer: Parental discretion is advised on this one as it contains quite a few Dag’s, several Gon’s, and a fair share of It’s. This was written a while ago, during a different day and in a different place, and I was spending a lot of time hanging out with Clint Eastwood at the time. If I’m remembering correctly I’m pretty sure it was all his fault.
July/August 2015
Welp…having determined that auto racing was too easy if you drive a minivan and that #vanlife virtual reality camping was dumb, not to mention the growing reality that the crowds of fans and admirers was becoming a constant bother, we decided to head off into the mountains again for some isolation and family fun.
Alas, seemed no matter where we went the locals just couldn’t seem to ignore the amazingness of our van. At least we could eat these particular four-legged fans if they persisted to bother us into hunting season.
“Ice cream will have to suffice for now,” I told the boys in an effort to prevent them from ravenous poaching. But while watching Clint Eastwood report on the six o’clock news that evening we were shocked to learn that there had been numerous odd happenings and sightings in the local area.
Something wasn’t right, and the way the news made it sound, the authorities weren’t being very forthright with the truth. Daggon’it. Looks like we’d have to investigate for ourselves and get to the bottom of whatever was bothering Clint so much. It takes a lot to bother Clint. Must be important.
That following morning we marched ourselves up to the local ranger station to volunteer our family as a scientific expeditionary force determined to get to the bottom of things around here. The only info they could give us was to be careful, since dozens of weather patterns had recombobulated overnight. That only happens when something’s about to hit the fan.
I tipped my cowboy hat to the ranger in thanks before setting off with the troops. If these rangers didn’t know nothing, guess we’d have to drop in on my old pal Smokey over in Beartown.
Couldn’t find Smokey anywhere in the miles and miles of slot canyons and crevasses despite lathering ourselves up with vegan-free honey (Smokey hates vegans). Daggon’it. This meant either the Sri Lankans had already gotten to Smokey…or he was working with them the whole time. Or who knows. We still had no idea what was going on…
That was, right up until we caught sight of these guys. Space aliens. Daggon’it.
I liked our chances when it was just the Sri Lankan government we were up against. We needed to find Smokey, and fast. Did somebody say “fast?” Good thing we brought the minivan. I have it on good authority that it is, in fact, an amazing machine.
