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The Quest For Venusaur:
It's CLIMAX Time!
Matt
- 7.09.01
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This is starting to feel like a really bad old episode of Sesame Street, where they incoherently jump from one skit to another, forcing you to accept Big Bird while trying to comprehend how orange crayons are made. Yes, that's what it is.
Anyway, the beach has been a thorn in my side for as long as I can remember. I'd sooner drink the water than swim in it, I'd rather wear a clown suit than a bathing suit, and everytime I see sand I get this weird mental tick which forces me to sit there and think of every word that rhymes with it. Other than that, the beach is pretty nice. I'd forgotten what it's like to get color and stop trying to trick people into believing my arms are really oversized pieces of chalk. It's definitely an odd world when ya think about it - nobody is viewed as having truly hit a beauty landmark until they fry their skin a few shades darker. Everyone faults Michael Jackson for trying to look like bedsheets...the rest of us do the same thing, just in reverse. What really confuses me are these tanning salons. I'll admit that tans definitely work on a lot of people, but I just wonder at what point does someone look at their stomach and say 'you know, my navel would be a lot more attractive with a little tinge of mahogany.' I'm just waiting for some PO Box mail order company to start marketing modified lotion that lets you tan your skin in shades of blue and green. I think we'd all be a lot more secure in our self worth if we knew that somewhere out there, someone was purposely tinting their skin blue.
Until such time, we just built dolphin statues in the sand.
Hey, what's that? Invasion of the Beach Ice Cream Vendors! I don't think I was mentally prepared for this one - we're all sitting there on our blankets and chairs, and out of nowhere, a horde of old men pushing giant ice cream carts rush past us singing the praises of their cold snacks, often employing the use of rhyme. These guys are vicious - if they're able to make eye contact with you, even for a moment, they'll stick around shouting in your direction till you have absolutely no choice but to buy a snowcone.
Best part? They compete for your business like vultures would compete over a fox carcass. They're all over 60, but some are apparently 80-90 years of age - they usually back off first. In a span of fifteen minutes we saw four vendors argue, two make mention that other vendors were on 'their turf,' and one lucky beachgoer verbally berate one of them till they were forced to wheel the cart away from the beach in shame.
 
Don't you just love when the people sitting next to you on the beach decide that it'd be a good idea to try feeding every single seagull in a 20-mile radius? I know there's nothing I enjoy more than having the chance to relive a Hitchcock classic while avoiding the always-present danger of having bird shit plop on my head. Seagulls, by the way, are probably the most innately comical creatures on the planet. Especially when they're going for a pizza crust on the street and someone runs 'em over.
The second picture completes the circle, as the dolphin sand statue my friends and I had labored on for a half hour is unjustly destroyed by one of the ice cream vendors. We sat there for ten minutes cringing as anyone would walk past the thing, but luckily, no clumsy step. Until Ice Cream Man came by. He didn't even make the effort to look like he cared about our dolphin - rather, he appeared to aim his cart tires right for it's head. I'm not sure if there's something poetic about that, but we were still annoyed enough to take off from the beach.
To commemorate the annoyance, I'd like to ask a favor of each of you. Annoy someone today. Let's make this the most annoying day in known history, (discounting the day Just the Ten of Us hit prime time) hoping that the chain reaction will result in the ice cream vendor/dolphin killer himself being annoyed. I suggest calling at least one person 'saucy' today - that's pretty annoying. If not, ask everyone you stumble upon today to explain the subatomic structure of matter. A final option: at the most inopportune moment available, ask your friend how many miles it is from where you are to Belgrade, Yugoslavia. All annoying and effective choices.
 
The cranes were still stocked with Pokemon, but our success rate last year obviously caused Wildwood's higher ups to enforce stricter, lamer cranes that won't even close much less let you win anything. On the plus side, WW remains one of the only places left around here who haven't exclusively changed all their cranes to 50 cents or higher. It doesn't hurt my soul as much to only lose a quarter trying to win some ugly misshapen cat doll. When I lose fifty cents on that, all I can think about is how I just skipped out on a pack of Bubblelicious.
Secondly, we have hermit crabs - one of the few pets mothers across the world won't say no to. I could sit here and make fun of people who buy crabs, but I think they're pretty fun. Especially when they go all mental on you and start dropping off their limbs because you're touching them. These particular crabs were evidently very special ones, indicated by their rainbow-colored shells. So they're either futuristic alien crabs, or gay crabs. Either way, these are some serious conversational crabs well worth the three bucks. Aside from all this, hermit crabs are essentially the easiest thing on the planet to take care of. All you have to do is keep a sponge wet, little food once in a while, and supply larger shells for them to romp in. By the way - if you've never seen a hermit crab out of it's shell, you're missing out. Their backside ends in this big rubber tail that looks a lot like part of a He-Man figure. Greyskull crabs.
 
Meanwhile, Bulba and Ivysaur try to warn Gizmo about the dangers of eating chips with Olean, but their pleas fall on deaf ears. Or maybe Gizmo dolls can't understand Pokemon dolls. Either way, Gizmo paid the price by overlooking the only chip on the planet with 'anal leakage' warnings on the package.
And, oh yeah, I got Venusaur.
Like I said, the only way that I'd catch him was if an angel smiled upon me - some celestial protector, some royal guard, some raspberry jam. And an angel did help out - I felt like Link grabbing that last slice of orange away from Gannon as I triumphantly introduced Venusaur to his previous evolutions. The adventure was over - the mission was complete. For now, at least. God knows, they'll probably come out with a Bulbasaur toothbrush and I'll have to fly out to Wisconsin next summer. For now though, it's all about inner peace. The goal was met, the dream was realized, the Coors was skunked - I had a Venusaur.
I had it all.
He's a wonderful little action figure. He's got this leaf that flies off him attacked to a string, and he's full of these gloriously unexplained blue bumps. He's everything I could want in a Pokemon toy, and then some. I'd fuck him if he was porous, I'd marry him if he was legal. But above all else, I have to thank the person responsible for granting my wish and giving me the Venusaur. I think some of you might remember this Asgardian dynamo from some time ago. Okay okay, here he is. The angel. The giver of life, the giver of Pokemon, the man who took the final quest to completion - folks, meet the man who gave me Venusaur:
WAYNE KNIGHT!
Gotcha.
Actually, it's...
FAT DADDY.
Now the only question left...is this the end? Or only the beginning?
-
Matt
matt@x-entertainment.com
The Satyr!
AIM: xecharchar
OTHER X-E TRIPS
(not directly involving stuffed animals)
   
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