The night was still young as shrill cries were overheard from the banks of the Rosston River.
There was some steady, low volume rustling taking place in the tent, outfitted with a Coleman grill, a nice luxury green beach chair with a red bottle of the strawberry Mike's Hard Lemonade that had been cracked open and drank in one of the cup holders and a yellow, original Mike's Hard that remained unopened holding down the fort in the other and a slackline set up between a couple nearby trees. The whole tent set up was right next to the Rosston River, located about fifteen feet from the sandy shore under the protection of a low hanging tree that provided amble brush. The Rosston River is the main waterway that bisects Kelpdock, Florida, a lazy ten beach towels-to-a-home town that roots for the Orlando Magic, Jacksonville Jaguars, Florida Panthers and Atlanta Braves and the largest town in Orange Julius County. The Kelpdock Library (the locals call it the Home for the Nerdy) is located in one of the town's three malls...that's all you need to know about Kelpdock, Florida.
A weathered individual emerged from the tent as the yells for help that sounded like they were coming from the middle of the river became more desperate and more reminiscent of his night terrors. Looking like he hasn't seen sunlight in more than a few fort nights and perhaps even more blue moons (Fort Nite and Blue Moon really need to get together and team up with some marketing campaign that illustrates their British cheekiness), the grizzled man stumbled as he fumbled the zipper of the front entrance of the beast before he finally collapsed in a heap of exhaustion from the sudden overexertion of effort, the equivalent of circuit training for drifters (my favorite infomercial of all time...most of it is filmed at the crafts services table).
As our grizzled drifter friend, let's call him Cliff to save some time, peered up at the river's edge, he swore that he could make out the outline of what appeared to be a human being. Feeling the spark of his inner hero being ignited once again after hearing the echoes of another shriek for assistance (not to mention the earthy reverberations of his history that is more checkered than the end zone of the Tennessee Volunteers), Cliff gathered his courage as well as his feet as he rose up and stood tall, moving toward the Rosston with a Chandlerton and Joeyton's amount of courage in his fanny pack, to boot. As he approached the body of water, flowing mightily, he noticed a middle-aged tan, blonde lady wearing a straw cowboy hat, a flowery swimsuit bottom and a Tim Tebow number fifteen bright orange Florida Gators jersey and fighting off what must have been an eighteen foot alligator with a weak walking stick that your great uncle would use on hikes while she delicately rode a super sketchy looking raft that would have been deemed too flimsy for the set of Castaway. Alarmed and perturbed by the situation taking place, Cliff went all Michael Phelps on them and dove into the water to bravely attack the beast of an animal that seems more like a dinosaur.
The Tebow Lady, as she shall be known, was able to escape to dry land with the help of Cliff’s brazen plunge into the seaweedy abyss of underwater humanity (perhaps a sequel to Water World is in order - does anyone have Kevin Costner’s pager?). Sadly, that was the last we saw of our friend Cliff but our other friend, The Tebow Lady, was said to have knelt on one knee in the sand in memory of her hero for fifteen sets of fifteen seconds.
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There was some steady, low volume rustling taking place in the tent, outfitted with a Coleman grill, a nice luxury green beach chair with a red bottle of the strawberry Mike's Hard Lemonade that had been cracked open and drank in one of the cup holders and a yellow, original Mike's Hard that remained unopened holding down the fort in the other and a slackline set up between a couple nearby trees. The whole tent set up was right next to the Rosston River, located about fifteen feet from the sandy shore under the protection of a low hanging tree that provided amble brush. The Rosston River is the main waterway that bisects Kelpdock, Florida, a lazy ten beach towels-to-a-home town that roots for the Orlando Magic, Jacksonville Jaguars, Florida Panthers and Atlanta Braves and the largest town in Orange Julius County. The Kelpdock Library (the locals call it the Home for the Nerdy) is located in one of the town's three malls...that's all you need to know about Kelpdock, Florida.
A weathered individual emerged from the tent as the yells for help that sounded like they were coming from the middle of the river became more desperate and more reminiscent of his night terrors. Looking like he hasn't seen sunlight in more than a few fort nights and perhaps even more blue moons (Fort Nite and Blue Moon really need to get together and team up with some marketing campaign that illustrates their British cheekiness), the grizzled man stumbled as he fumbled the zipper of the front entrance of the beast before he finally collapsed in a heap of exhaustion from the sudden overexertion of effort, the equivalent of circuit training for drifters (my favorite infomercial of all time...most of it is filmed at the crafts services table).
As our grizzled drifter friend, let's call him Cliff to save some time, peered up at the river's edge, he swore that he could make out the outline of what appeared to be a human being. Feeling the spark of his inner hero being ignited once again after hearing the echoes of another shriek for assistance (not to mention the earthy reverberations of his history that is more checkered than the end zone of the Tennessee Volunteers), Cliff gathered his courage as well as his feet as he rose up and stood tall, moving toward the Rosston with a Chandlerton and Joeyton's amount of courage in his fanny pack, to boot. As he approached the body of water, flowing mightily, he noticed a middle-aged tan, blonde lady wearing a straw cowboy hat, a flowery swimsuit bottom and a Tim Tebow number fifteen bright orange Florida Gators jersey and fighting off what must have been an eighteen foot alligator with a weak walking stick that your great uncle would use on hikes while she delicately rode a super sketchy looking raft that would have been deemed too flimsy for the set of Castaway. Alarmed and perturbed by the situation taking place, Cliff went all Michael Phelps on them and dove into the water to bravely attack the beast of an animal that seems more like a dinosaur.
The Tebow Lady, as she shall be known, was able to escape to dry land with the help of Cliff’s brazen plunge into the seaweedy abyss of underwater humanity (perhaps a sequel to Water World is in order - does anyone have Kevin Costner’s pager?). Sadly, that was the last we saw of our friend Cliff but our other friend, The Tebow Lady, was said to have knelt on one knee in the sand in memory of her hero for fifteen sets of fifteen seconds.
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