Words and Thoughts — April 4, 2024
Hello again, alleged readers. This past week I found myself pondering life, and some of its medium sized mysteries, by the fairway of a dinosaur themed putt-putt course just off the 501 in Myrtle Beach. Initially I didn’t know it was a putt putt. I thought it was a dinosaur zoo. I thought it was really odd that they’d be selling putters and ice cream at a dinosaur zoo. But then again, I’d never been to Myrtle Beach, and was unfamiliar with their culture. By the fourth hole, I was getting suspicious that I might not actually be at a dinosaur zoo. By the seventh, I was pretty much sure of it. This was good news though, because the Triceratops standing off to the side of the tenth hole, which I was being extra careful around, no longer posed any immediate threat to my wellbeing. Unencumbered by a sudden lack of existential threat, I climbed onto the Triceratops’ back, and spent a few hours telling folks making the turn from the front nine that the dinosaurs were fake. That way, the people wouldn’t have to be concerned about any of the dinosaurs trying to steal their golf balls, or eating their children.
Imagine their relief!
While I was up on ol’ Bertha there, (that’s what I named the fake Triceratops), I thought about how cool it would be if they made a movie about a dinosaur zoo. My first order of business as director of that movie would be to make sure there wasn’t putt putt in the zoo, because if the dinosaurs were real, then people might think the putt putt was fake, and that would throw the whole je ne sais quoi of the film off kilter. But I suppose the movie would probably be a lot like that one really long episode of Seinfeld that really only had Newman in it. Or those couple episodes of Parks and Rec with basically just Andy in it. Or the arc on Peaky Blinders focusing on Inspector Campbell. Or even those Alan-heavy episodes of Portlandia.
I certainly wouldn’t want to make a movie that was that derivative of so many sitcoms.
Around sunset, I got curious to see if I could fit through the hole in the fence behind the T-rex. I hopped off Bertha, and lo and behold, I fit. I’m not sure what I expected to find behind the fence. Nor did I expect the effects of sitting in the sun without water all day to sneak up on me. Life is full of surprises though, I suppose. Surprise number one, I found trashcans. Surprise number two, I passed out, knocking over the trashcans in the process. Who would’ve thought?
As the sun continued to dip below the plastic-slatted chainlink, and then below the horizon beyond that, I came to; likely revived by the toilet-bowl-cleaner-blue mist wafting across the course from the waterfall by the Pterodactyl nest. I made my way back out of the gap in the fence, and towards the putter and ice-cream hut. I had lost track of my score up to this point, but shot a respectable 17 on the last three holes. Courteous citizen that I am, I did make sure to inform the putter and ice-cream man that I noticed some knocked over trash cans back by the tee box off fifteen.
“Raccoons, probably,” he sighed.
Almost definitely. But who can be sure?
