A fleet of dune buggies pulls up to a shaved ice kiosk in the middle of the mostly deserted beach, a few miles from Raymond James Stadium, home of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, who have been pathetic for the most part of the better part of the last always (minus the magical ‘02 Super Bowl run, led by several rolls of Warren Sapp’s back fat and a Tony Dungy freckle.)
“Did you hear the big news, son?”
The apparent leader of the wolfpack barked at the pimply, gangly teen manning (if you could call it that...he’s certainly no Peyton or even an Eli...more of a Cooper...) the frozen ice stand like his life depended on it (wait a second, on second thought it seemed like he might walk away from the job for a gaggle of reasons, one of them not being spending quality time with the opposite sex.)
“No sir. What happened - did Tom Cruise finally win a much-deserved Oscar after years of denying the simple pleasure of turning the crafts services table into a personal all-you-can-eat buffet?”
The scary leader of the wolfpack snarled a laugh from under that scary Bane mask that Marshawn Lynch used to rock except this Bane mask was covered with buccaneer-themed items like cannons and treasure maps and creamsicle-colored uniforms.
“No, although I agree - I think it’s time the Academy recognizes true greatness for all that it is - an undersized, everyday possession receiver who took the cinematic universe by storm and forced them to reconsider what it means to be a leading man (although that phrase may be out of sync with the current political times that we live in - I’m gonna start saying leading person.) Alas, we picked up the Tom Cruise of quarterbacks, Tom Brady - the dude was always underestimated and he always overperforms. This will certainly be an interesting season in The Bay for us season ticket holders. Anyway, lemme get a watermelon flavored shaved ice, hold the melon.”
“That’s great news about Mr. Brady, I’ve heard good things about his playing skills although I’ve never seen a game. I’ve never owned a TV and spend my nights watching the waves crash into the sand and playing Counting Crows songs on my acoustic guitar before retiring to my treehouse to work on my memoirs and sip a steamy mug (which I hand-carved out of my home) of hibiscus tea before dozing off while listening to owls make sweet love in my backyard. Do you know what it sounds like when a parliament of owls are going at it like they’re trying to get to the center of a straight up Halloween-haul-sized pillow case jam packed full of Tootsie Pops? It’s like that old dial-up tone that went off when you signed onto AOL meets a bunch of demon ghosts going HAM on a Travel Channel production team.”
Millhouse had suddenly transformed into The Most Interesting Man in the World, before the shocked eyes of the wolfpack leader and his wolfpack.
“Well, now isn’t that just lovely.”
“So, you just want a cup of ice water?”
“Yup.”
“Alright, here you go.”
“Now, you take care, now. Bye.”
And with that, the wolfpack leading Bane-Wannabe, having missed the last several visits to the eye doctor after a newfound obsession with bright flashing lights festivals, unknowingly led his pack of ne’er do well misfits straight off a cliff, the only one in Tampa Bay.
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