I was chillaxing on a sunbed, soaking up some Vitamin D and Jamaican Thunder in a glass. I was just minding my own business, contemplating how much my life sucks, wondering how many Thunders I’ve actually had, when my friend suddenly gasped out loud: “Oh my god!” (note – we are older than 13, so he actually said this and not O.M.G)
I jerked upright, knocking my sunglasses off in the process. I smiled at the inkling of a buzz I had sizzling in my head. I turned and saw my friend, whom still had his jaw on the floor, resembling a human Venus fly-trap. He was staring at something on the opposite side of the pool deck and he was exercising immense restraint not to point as well. My immediate thought was a dolphin or a whale, but quickly realised that at eight stories above sea level, seeing any fish would imply too much Jamaican thunders. I cautiously placed my glass on the floor.
“What’s wrong?” I asked a little too
In these moments the wife also rose from her slumber at the speed that one might expect from a wife, lying on a sunbed, on a cruise, only slower.
“Check that out”, my friend said with a very strange tone to his voice, a cocktail *see what I did there* of surprise, awe and disgust. It’s one of those moments where I wasn’t sure whether I really wanted to see the thing that he was talking about. But I’m curious. And I blog. And I always need a story.
Now imagine this in slow motion… I turned my head in the direction of his gaze. Seeing a million and one mellow people occupying the space across the deck. Children, couples, grandparents, hotness. (I mean the ladies, not the grandparents. I’m not that way inclined.) My eyes was searching, trying to focus beyond the bright glare of the beaming sun.
But then I saw it. It was at that point that I knew one should always follow your instincts. I would have been a better person not seeing it. Right in full view of everyone was the biggest crack I have ever had the misfortune of laying my eyes on. The Mother of them all.
It was sitting on the edge of the pool, gorging on ice-cream. It must have been at least two metres long, ending in a black hole, encircled with 240 inches of white, jiggly, oversized, hairy butt flesh. Let’s just say the people of Guinness missed something ginormous in their last issue. In the horror section.
The owner of the crack was oblivious to the exposure of his immense ass. Even though he had, what vaguely resembled pants over his thighs, it by no means even tried to cover his butt. Here’s hoping it did succeed in covering his man muscle, but fortunately for me he wasn’t facing me at the time of the viewing. In hind side, I seriously doubt that anyone would actually be able to see his Jimmy, because his flabness was covering his manliness.
My father always told me that it is rude to stare, but would you look away if you saw something that made little kids cry? No you wouldn’t. It was the same for us and a few others who was noticing the spectacle. I’m not kidding, you could hide a whole family of dwarves in that crack. It had a life of his own, and no plumber on earth has ever managed to look that bad.
It’s almost a month now, and I’m still waking up in the middle of the night, screaming, drenched in sweat, having nightmares about being stuck in that crack, like the dude from 127 hours. And it’s sweaty and it’s dark and it’s smelly and don’t worry I’ll stop.
I really don’t have anything against grossly obese people, but there is a lesson to be learned here. If you resemble a hippo walking on two legs then it might be a good idea to (1) NOT board a vessel where there is a non-stop all you can eat buffet and (2) If you do, refrain from wearing the same bathing costume you had in high school.
Because cracks like those are not meant to be seen by anyone.