The Sasquatch Journal

The Pirates of the Pacific: Treasure Hunt 2K6!


The light of the torch cast an eerie light on the scaly form of the python as it crawled, tongue flickering, cold eyes unblinking, though the sand where we kneeled. Alas! We barely mustered a glance towards the serpent, for our complete attention was on the task at hand – finding the buried treasure. All on hands and knees, we frantically dug in the sand in hopes of striking something hard. By the Virgin Queen, this had to be the spot! We had carefully counted exactly 120 paces from the bones of the Great Serpent and this was it! Between the eyes of the Monkey Skull near the Ocean. With a yelp, First Mate Joel suddenly jumped to his feet and proudly raised his arm in the air. A sandy green felt bag swayed in his grip. The treasure was ours! Fortune was indeed on our side!

Alright, alright. While this rendition of our Thursday night adventure is a bit on the dramatic side (I’ve always wanted to write a pirate yarn), but the fact of the matter is, the story is mostly true. OK, let me rewind a little bit.

It was another typical Monday night. I was roused from whatever I was doing by my roommate Joel, who suggested we steal $15 of quarters our other roommate Collin had and bury it at the beach nearby. Then we would draw a map of the location of the spot we buried it and write semi-cryptic clues to its location. The map would be weathered (we took the easy way out by burning the edges of it with a cigarette lighter) and placed in the snake cage for Collin to stumble upon. Good plan, except for the fact that Collin is lazy and was working a lot. Thus, the grand adventure didn’t take place until three days later on Thursday. But hey, who said being a pirate took any sense of urgency?

Yep, that's a small python Joel is holding. And yes, he looks like a creep.

The sight of the five of us walking out of the apartment was more than a little ridiculous. “Captain” Collin holding a tiki torch in one hand, the map in another, and his baby ball python “Future Man” wrapped around his wrist. John Hooker (who by his name alone sounds destined to becoming a pirate) holding another tiki torch and walking around creepily like Lurch from the Addams Family. Joel, who had the other snake in his hand, and would say “Arrrr” with full pirate flair every 30 seconds. Scott and I were more or less bystanders, but the longer we stayed, the more we got caught up in the spirit of the adventure. (I was sort of like Martha Plimpton in “Goonies.”)

There we were, walking in the middle of the street towards the ocean, looking like either the most pathetic angry mob ever, or an overgrown, aging group of Goonies. We got some fairly strange looks from passerbys and those just hanging outside talking on their cellphones.

Meanwhile, Collin is busy interpreting the map. “If treasure ye seeketh, follow the tears of the morning sun past the Aztec temple on the Bay.” Not to hard to interpret since there is a hotel down the street sort of has that step pyramid look, so we’d always referred to it as the Aztec Temple. And since it is on Bay Street, the clue was none to difficult.

“If ye darest, brave the curses of One-Eyed Neilson’s Way. Death hath not yet huggeth thee, an ocean ye must cross, yar!” Right. The streets of Neilson’s Way and Ocean Boulevard. Check.

“If ye eye yar sign o’er the roundabout, ye shall find the mark o’ the skull of Robert Fitsinacase, the fiercest pirate in all the South Seas.”

This worked out well because at the end of the Bay Street near the beach was a sign at a roundabout. The sign had a good sized skull and crossbones skateboard sticker affixed to it, a perfect Pirate landmark.

“Takest ye paces o’ forty to the left and ye will travel the Spine O’ the Serpent. The same serpent that ate Three-Finger Jack’s favorite finger”

The so-called "Spine of O' Serpent." It also sort of looks like the cover of an emo album.

That was a little walk on a path between a couple of dozen of white columns. Seen from a distance, you could sort of make the comparison to the skeleton of a giant snake. You know, if you squint really hard. And drop acid. And slap yourself on the face.

“Facing the wretched sea, lookest ye deep in the eyes o’ the Monkey De La Muerte if treasure ye seeketh.”

On Monday, I had joked that we should pay a disheveled scraggly-haired homeless guy like $5 to sit near one of the “landmarks” and yell “Beware, for evil is in the air tonight. DANGER! DOOM!” when Collin walked by on the treasure hunt. But what would be hilarious is that since he had no idea who Collin is, he would yell that at every passerby.

Instead, a group of teenage Hispanic ruffians approached us as we stepped onto the beach. “Hey, you guys starting a bonfire on the beach?” one asked. “No, we be looking for treasure!” replied one of us in High Pirate. “You guys got any weed?” yelled another as we began to walk away. “No, but we lost the casket of Davey Jones’ rum at sea!” I said over my shoulder. “And snakes!” From afar, I heard one of them say, “Man, they’re white dudes. They don’t have any weed.”

The Monkey Skull was actually two perpendicular metal vents on the beach that represented “eyes.” The mouth was the walking trial and benches that resembled the flat mouth and rectangular teeth. A stretch, I know. Oh, and the pipes sticking out of the boxes were “worms” emerging from the rotten skull.

That’s when all five of us stuck torches/snakes in the sand and began digging everywhere. There were two homeless guys in sleeping bags laying against the “eyes” and I can only imagine what they were thinking.

We almost decided that someone with a metal detector must have snagged the treasure, but after maybe three or four minutes (but felt like way longer) Joel finally found the green pouch. Collin opened it and out poured about 50 quarters. We would all drink like kings tonight!

Collin holds up the booty. Can you imagine all the countless gold and treasure in that small little sack?!

Two hilarious encounters occurred on the way back home. The first was when we were walking in a single file line on the yellow stripes in the middle of the road near the beach. (“The asphalt is not asphalt. It is lava” claimed the map. Yeah, I know) A cop suddenly approached us. Here’s sort of how the conversation went to the best I can remember:

Cop- “What the hell are you guys doing with those torches.”

Collin- “Arrr, we be looking for this here treasure. We needed to torch light to see the map.”

Cop- “Well, we’ve had some complaints from people about you guys. We’re trying to figure out what’s going on… What’s in there?” (He was referring to the pouch)

Collin- “Uh, about 15 dollars.”

Cop- “A 50 dollar ticket would sure wipe out that treasure pretty quickly.”

Collin- “Sorry sir, we’re pirates.”

Cop- ‘I can see that. We’ll be careful, there’s lots of drunks and homeless people. Go home.”

Minutes later we actually ran into said drunk homeless people. As we crossed 4^th Street, one of them saw us with the torches and heard our pirate speak and goes “Arrr! Pirates, huh? You guys have any of that good pirate whiskey for me?” Like I told the Hispanic teens, I told him we lost our chest of rum at sea. He seemed OK with that explanation.

And so ends the adventure. Pirates, snakes, cops, homeless people. What a night. Did I mention I’m 28 years old? Someone stab me with a saber.

And that's me trying to look hardcore and help Collin read the map. Yep, I'm 28 years old.

Things to Do When You're Unemployed

When you're gainfully unemployed, you have the luxury of considering options you never dreamed of before. Like sleeping until 11 a.m.. Or watching the entire process of "Future Man", the baby Ball Python that resides in our crowded Santa Monica bungalow, strangle and consume, and digest a mouse whole. Or, watching the media continue to metaphorically pick clean the bones of Michael Jackson at a trial involving his dispute with a former porn king.

http://www.mercurynews.com/mld/mercurynews/news/breaking_news/14923344.htm

I decided to take a walk on the beach today (another luxury of unemployment) and thought I'd peek my head in at the Santa Monica courthouse to see the circus. But, by the time I strolled by, everyone had evacuated. The only leftover sights was signs designating Media Parking, and strangely enough, a section near the courthouse steps roped off because of "bees." Yep, there was a sign that said "Beware Bees" with a little picture of cartoon bees for emphasis. The first thing that occured to me was that Michael Jackson arrived with an entourage of Killer Bees for protection and that instead of his usual gilded veils, he'd be wearing a garish beekeeper suit.

But alas, according to the article, Michael Jackson was busy chillin at his house in Bahrain. Doing whatever it is Bahrainians do.



What's perhaps most ridiculous about this case though, is what could be called the Jay Leno factor. MJ, of course, has been late night talk show joke fodder for what seems like a decade. The following is a direct quote from the above quoted article:

"At one point, a retired nurse on the panel said she had met Jackson when she worked at a hospital where he came after his hair caught on fire during a commercial shoot.

As for her impressions of him, she said: "He was wonderful with the kids."

The entire audience of prospective jurors burst into laughter."

Counsel, your witness.