by Craig Birk
Chapter Eighteen
Swingers
8:29 p.m.
“I think you're all fucked in the head. We're ten hours from the fucking fun park and you want to bail out. Well I'll tell you something. This is no longer a vacation. It's a quest. It's a quest for fun. I'm gonna have fun and you're gonna have fun. We're all gonna have so much fucking fun we'll need plastic surgery to remove our god-damn smiles. You'll be whistling “Zip-A-Dee Doo-Dah” out of your assholes! I gotta be crazy! I'm on a pilgrimage to see a moose. Praise Marty Moose! Holy Shit!”
– Clark Griswold, Vacation
Other than Roger’s outburst toward the conclusion of the Stanford game, things remained noticeably quiet in the car ever since the encounter with California’s finest. It had now been about an hour since they had been pulled over, so Gary decided it was safe to crack another beer. He offered fresh ones to the back seat as well, which were readily accepted. Alex, who was maintaining a constant seventy-eight miles per hour, asked for a Diet Coke, which Gary also provided.
Alex had a better ability than most to move on from bad news, especially if it was the result of something he could not control. With regards to the speeding ticket, he reasoned that while he was largely at fault, these things sometimes happened and could not be completely avoided. Though not happy about the large fine he knew he would face, he increasingly considered the outcome of the whole event to be generally positive given the potential for much worse scenarios. Driving though the darkness, with the rest of the group quiet, it didn’t take long for Alex’s mind to wander from the unfortunate issue with the police to other items.
Alex: “Do you think Smurfette let a lot of the other Smurfs fuck her?”
Gary: “I really like to think not. I kind of had a crush on her as a kid. That would sort of ruin it somehow. She seems so sweet. Anyway, it didn’t seem like the Smurfs were very sexual creatures.”
Alex: “Yeah, but they always seemed so happy all the time. You know, except for that one that was always upset about something. I mean, especially considering they lived in mushrooms and had to provide for everything they had. They must have had to work pretty hard. It wasn’t like they lived in an oil-rich emirate or anything. Plus, they always had watch out for Gargamel and that cat. It sounds like a pretty tough life. They must have been getting laid to be that cheerful.”
Gary: “I don’t think so. With only one chick, if they were fucking her, it would have bred too much jealousy and resentment. I think the fact that they were so happy is evidence that they were asexual.”
Alex: “That is logical. But what about Baby-Smurf? Maybe someone slipped one past the goalie?"
Gary: “Smurfette never looked pregnant. There had to be some other way of reproduction. They were always making potions and stuff. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Alex: “Sometimes I wonder if the Russians created the Smurfs as some kind of communist propaganda to influence American kids.”
Gary: “How is that?”
Alex: “Well, the Smurfs basically had a communist society. Remember how they were always all helping out to build something or accomplish some common goal? Plus there were no rich Smurfs. Clearly Handy Smurf could have made a killing if it was a free market. And Papa Smurf kind of had a role similar to a Soviet Premier.”
Gary: “Are you calling Papa Smurf Stalin? I don’t remember him sending any Smurfs to the gulag.”
Alex: “Of course not. They wouldn’t want to show that part. He did have that red hat, though. Anyway, think about it. The show was at its peak in the early eighties at the height of the Cold War, right? Also, it is consistent with Smurfette’s role as the sexless beauty. One of the main reasons to make more money than your peers is to attract pussy. Having only one woman, who didn’t or couldn’t put out, is sort of the perfect scenario for communism to thrive.”
Gary: “Well, I watched every Saturday and I didn’t turn out to be a commie.”
Alex: “I guess so. But I still don’t trust those Russians.”
Roger: “I bet Smurfette took it in every hole. She probably tied that blonde hair up into a pony tail, got down on her knees and took one little blue Smurf cock in her mouth while another one gave it to her from behind. Meanwhile, Papa Smurf was sitting in the corner with his red pants around his ankles punching clown and videotaping the whole thing.”
Alex: “I think you are right, Rodge. The thing that bothers me the most is we will probably never know for sure.”
Roger: “That dirty little slut!”
Alex continued to ponder the sexual habits of the Smurfs as he maneuvered the car through a slight curve to the left. A few miles to the south of the peak of Clark Mountain, Highway 15 northbound reached its own summit, revealing a view of an expansive valley of darkness and dirt below. Two straight, thin lines of red and white car lights divided the nothingness. They acted as feeder streams, emptying into a larger body of illumination at the border where the first Nevada casinos beckoned.
“Vegas, Baby! Vegas!” Roger exclaimed excitedly from the back seat.
Alex: “Keep your pants on. This whole thing seems way too much like Swingers already for my comfort level.”
Gary: “Anyway, it isn’t even Vegas, it’s just Whiskey Pete’s.”
Roger: “Ah, quit being such pube-lice. Once in a while you all should quit worrying about the minutia and enjoy the moment. Vegas, Baby!”
