Sicktrip Journal VI

September 2, 2005; Friday; 10:34pm; Last night in Waco, TX

Tomorrow we will drive the bus away
To Fort Worth we will go to fix the leak.
A VW website had a list
Of people willing to help those in need.
Shay, a kind stranger, will pull the engine
And help us put the oil cooler in.

Then we will venture to Mississippi
We will no longer go to New Orleans
We want to find a southern Baptist church
Because we want to get down on Sunday
We will miss Texas and all our new friends
Except for humidity, which is bad.

Today was our last full day in Waco. We got to sleep in a little bit, then drove out to Crawford with Dana. In case you don’t know, that is where George W. Bush lives and where he does cool stuff like chop up logs with chainsaws and fall off his mountain bike. People are really proud of their town (population 800) because the Bushes live there (Today we learned that contrary to popular belief, Laura Bush, not Emily Dickinson, is America’s first sweetheart).We went rock jumping (into water) and then went into Crawford to go to the Bush store. Nowhere else on the planet can you find a place that sells all of the following: animal mounts of every kind, George Bush cardboard cutouts, Cowboy hats, T-shirts that say “Texas Women Love Dubya”, and hunting licenses (OK, I made that one up). It was unbelievable.

Tonight we went down to the local coffee shop, where all the cool hipster college kids hang out, to see a local band play. We skateboarded there, and I got to use Dana’s board. She warned us before, “Watch out…it bears to the left”. Naturally, I thought I could handle it, but quickly found out that Dana wasn’t joking. So in the course of 1 or 2 blocks, I ate asphalt twice. It is a good thing that I don’t know anyone here, or else my cool rating would plummet.

We walked into the coffee shop, skateboards in hand, and I went into the bathroom to wash the blood off my hands and arms. I didn’t lock the door, because I was only washing my hands. When I was almost done, a guy who looked like he had been trying way too hard to match his fashion with that of GQ magazine opened the door.

Texan Frat Boy: “Whoa! You didn’t lock the door! It’s a good thing you weren’t on the toilet!”

At this point, the guy stepped into the bathroom with me (single room) and closed the door behind him.

Californian youth brooding with discontent towards the system: “Yeah….I am just washing my elbow.” (I showed him my bloodied elbow)

Texan GQ Tool: “Whoa! How did you do that?!” (The whole time I am thinking, ‘Why didn’t this guy just wait for me to come outside instead of shutting himself in the bathroom with me!?’)

Californian desperate romantic: “I fell of my skateboard”

Texan bandit secretly waiting for the perfect chance to hit my right in the face: “Oh yeah!? What do y’all call them things? I’m from Ft. Worth, you know, we ride on 6x8’s” (He then showed me with his hands what a Ft. Worthian skateboard looks like: a rectangular plank of wood)

NOTE: From this point on, the story may or may not be completely true.

Californian bodybuilder: “I don’t know…but you are a filthy scoundrel.”

I then managed to jump on his shoulders, using my legs to fling his head straight into the john. After standing over him laughing and flushing the toilet over and over again, I ran out side of the bathroom, leaving my foe humiliated and defeated. Then I ran back and karate chopped him right in the foot.