“Pisstank One to Base, over?”

“This is Base, PT1, go ahead.”

“Base, I’ve been assimilated.”

(Oh lord…)

“10-4, Pisstank One, resistance is futile.”  (eyeroll)

Yep, he’s wandered off again.  That’s not even the scary part.  This park where we’re currently moored is the scary part.

When we first pulled in last night, the place was just a’hoppin’.  There were people everywhere – hoards of kids running around, adults clustering with their polypropylene-encased beer cans.  A very festive scene that rapidly went weird.  As we rolled to a stop, the entire park seemed to come to a grinding halt.  People pivoted around to stare at us.  The silence was eerie.  The staring, worse.  “What are they staring at?” I wondered aloud.

“No idea,” said ole Bob, vaulting from the car to go register us.  I locked the doors and stared back.  They just kept on with their staring.  I began to wonder what I’d do if Bob never came back.  Eventually he did and we proceeded to our designated camping spot.  As we pulled in, the same darned thing happened.  Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared.

An hour later, we were all set up.  I had opened up all the windows and blinds and just gone about my business.  Then.  I happened to glance outside.  There was some hillbilly just standing there like a statue.  Staring.  Y’know, most people, when caught gawking will look away or blush or pretend they were looking at something else.  Not this guy.  He just stood there.  Staring.  Even when I stared right back, he didn’t budge.

I couldn’t swear to this but I’m pretty sure I heard banjo music in the distance…

  1. So just what was Bob staring at? I’m sure glad you weren’t assimilated so we could enjoy this post.


  2. wumby says:

    What land were you in? Were they by any chance speaking in a different tongue?

  3. You went where no one has gone before………..etc, etc.

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