Part 3: A Quiet Ride to the Beach

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The parking area of the “Presidential Palace” contained the Motor pool, which consisted of two Jeeps, both colored a pale yellow. From his pocket in his shorts, Reese produced a set of keys and proceeded to unlock the door of the open-air Jeep. Hiram just laughed.

“Uh, excuse me sir, but what is the use of locking the door of a Jeep that has no roof and no enclosed area? I mean a robber, should one decided they absolutely must have a broken down looking automobile, would just have to climb in and steal it.”

Reese shot him a look as if he was now addressing a four year old child. “Why to keep it safe, of course. You see, as you quite correctly pointed out, no one would actually want a barely drivable hunk of metal such as this unless they had been drinking copious amounts of alcohol for several hours before hand.”

Hiram just nodded and continued to listen to the explanation.

“Well,” El Presidente continued, “seeing as we downright discourage fitness here on Birubegja, mostly because it’s hard work and takes time away from drinking and singing, anyone who is already inebriated will most certainly fall during his or her attempt and will subsequently lay there and be arrested when the guards get back from their rum break.” He then turned, unlocked the door, and sat in the driver’s seat.

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Hiram thought about arguing that maybe putting up some sort of fence might be a good way to keep drunk people clear of the vehicles entirely, but quickly gave up the idea as being a worthless endeavor. He simply shrugged and walked around to the passenger side of the [now unlocked] jeep and sat down.

Reese started the engine and drove away from the meager palace and on towards one of the many beaches on Birubegja. Hiram thought it a good time to ask where exactly they were headed. “So, El Presidente, why the beach trip? I mean yes, we’re on a beautiful island and I’d hit the beach sooner or later, but why now?”

“Well, our destination is truly a rarity among the Caribbean islands. We have a truly, absolutely, unarguably, white sand beach. It’s called Uongo Beach and is truly remarkably. I guarantee you haven’t seen anything like it anywhere. But I’ll talk more about the beach when we get there. First take care to observe how we’ve included cattle grids on all driveways and entrances to homes and businesses.”

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Hiram scanned out his window and noticed that several pipes had been installed on the ground at the entrance of one many liquor stores located throughout the island. “Ah yes, to keep animals in or out?”

“We haven’t decided yet. Farmers want to keep the animals in and civilian drivers want to keep the animals out, especially those training for the Vehicular Animal Tag Olympics.”

Hiram looked shocked, a look he thought he took out of his expression list since he recently worked for a Puppy Punting firm. “Oh dear God, that’s horrible! How do you condone such behavior?”

“Oh, it’s not so bad. Besides, the animals make terrible drivers and most people easily avoid being tagged by them simply by taking a couple steps to the right or left. But the Animal Taggers have quite a following here and it would cause me more headaches than it’d be worth to ban it.”

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Hiram felt what he can only describe as what an aneurism might feel like, but luckily it was a false one. “Wait, so the animals are driving vehicles and trying to tag humans that are on foot?”

Reese just smiled. “Of course they are. It’s exactly like the running of the bulls only the animals are operating mobile machinery and very few of the people have their genitals tied up. Oh look, we’re nearing the beach now.”

(Continued in Part 4)

Published by Alan Reese

Greetings blog wanderers and seekers of truth, or whatever truth appears to be from the mind of a warped individual. You have reached the inner sanctum of some guy named Alan. Having graduated college sometime shortly after the Earth cooled, he finds himself in his late 30's and working out in the real world. His humor is dry and his outlook not so serious and somehow has picked up the nasty habit of writing about himself in the third person. He is married with child and loves his family, sports and, of course, his beloved video games...likelihood of his growing up? Not good. Are you an established site or magazine looking for a writer? Drop me a line if you are interested.

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