Move over Timothy Dalton — a new crappy-ass James Bond maybe coming our way, possibly in the form of Hugh Grant. First George Lazenby, then Dalton, now this? Sean Connery would be rolling in his grave! That is, if her were dead of course.

During some period of my high school years, my father thought a great Christmas gift for my mom was a video camera. Of course, when my dad asked my brother and I what we thought of the idea, we approved with a resounding, “fuck yeah!” Mind you, in early boyhood speak, the first word is silent when speaking to parental figures and/or those willing to promptly correct your pronunciation with “the belt”.

Keep in mind that these were the days when the latest video cameras required a full-size VHS tape for recording. In other words, you were expected to lug around a VCR on your shoulder. We knew that, along with this fine gift for our dear mother, we would gladly bear this heavy burden for her. Not only that, but we’d be sure to meticulously choose the locales of each shot, carefully pinpoint each subject to be filmed, and make sure the audio remained crisp and clear, providing dubbed, informative narratives where necessary.

Our first official shoot: three minutes of my brother and I screwing around with electric guitars and Christmas decorations, dubbed with music from Chipmunks Christmas. All this, and before the camera was even wrapped. Masterpiece.

One of the crown jewels of our work came the following summer, which forever changed the life of one person — my dad. Actually it’s possible we changed the lives of more than one person, as I believe we likely saved several in the process.

The family cookout has been a tradition for many years at my parents’ house. Lots of food, beer, and when we had a pool, swimming. While the details of this particular family gathering aren’t clear to those present, the magic of video renews those faded memories with a simple push of the “play” button. Follow this with “rewind”, then “play”, and repeat.

Because the entire day isn’t captured, we’re left with small fragmented highlights. Luckily we can piece some of this together with the graciously informative timestamps gracing each frame:

02:39 PM — The last guests are arriving. “Oh look — a video camera!” Yadda yadda. There’s dad, grilling away and toasting us with a beer.

03:34 PM — People sitting at the picnic table or in beach chairs, eating burgers and dogs. There’s dad again, setting up the horseshoe pit. It’s pretty hot out I guess, because he just removed his shirt. Somehow he did this without putting his beer down.

04:21 PM — Horseshoe game in progress, one of many. My cousin’s up, and the first shot rolls off a bit. Now it’s my dad’s turn. He puts his beer down and starts some kind of new warm up technique of swinging his throwing arm wildly in semi-circles as he paces around the pit. This lasts a couple of minutes before he throws a wild, high shot towards the far pit, his opponents scattering, using their arms as desperate attempts at helmets.

04:40 PM — Quick shot of my dad making “grass angels”.

04:42 PM — My dad is approaching the camera, beer in hand. He utters what sounds like an aramaic blessing as he makes the sign of the cross at the camera with his beer can. His beer baptism spreads to everyone in the immediate vicinity.

05:37 PM — It must be getting really hot now, because my dad’s making his way — somehow — to the pool. He announces to the gathering of people that he’s jumping into the icy water to cool off, which freaks my mom out. “You’re gonna get a heart attack!” Something like that. Anyway, it doesn’t matter — he’s in the pool, cannonball-style.

05:50 PM — Dad again, drying off on the pool deck and looking for his beer. I think someone purposely took it. Oh wait, there it is in the pool. Nevermind.

In conclusion, I’d say you had to be there, but really you’d just need to see the tape. It’s most likely been played so many times that the ferromagnetic material has worn down too thin to be watchable, it’s sitting at the bottom of the Merrimac, or it’s melted into makeshift golf tees. Whatever the fate of this tape may be, the “damage”, so-to-speak, has been done. Those images haunted and scarred my father for life, and those days are far behind him now. Lucky for us all.

Several years later during my college days, I passed out in the back of a boat where my friends say they decorated me with flowers and other things I was either never told about or chose to forget. They told me the next morning that they had the scene on video, and my remaining college life instantly flashed before my eyes, as I knew what such a thing could do to a man. Lucky for me they were kidding. I think.

(NOTE: Please know that not everything in this story can be taken as complete truth. My dad never has, nor will he ever, drink Beck’s beer.)

A bit late, but…

I can’t quite make out what this guy’s saying in this video, but just as the golfer putts the ball, you can make out someone saying something, but to me it’s unintelligible. Maybe my speakers aren’t loud enough.

Anyway, good night!

(UPDATE: Er, the correct link is up there now. Dunno what was up with that dog and cat.)

First Wonderboy, then Spiderman, now this?

Yep, that’s what they’re saying.

Am I the only one who had this come to mind when UbiSoft announced their new GBA Star Wars-themed game Star Wars: Apprentice?

Yeah, I probably am.

“Ohmygod! I can’t believe I didn’t tell you this as soon as you walked in the house!”

I should have just let her end the story right there, as I am now forever scarred. No more will I feel the sweet asylum of the trails of Callahan without uneasy glaces over my shoulders. No more will I fucking dare bend over with unclenched buttcheeks and an unconstricting belt to pick up a stick to throw for my dog. Never again at Callahan.

“You’ll never guess what happened to me at the park today.” She was right.

She then went on to explain that as she left the very full parking lot at the park entrance and travelled about 300 yards or so down the trails, she noticed our dog, Guinness, staring warily into a nearby field. When she approached, she noticed there was a man standing there, bare-assed naked, about 100 feet away in what has to be one of the most poison-ivy ridden, bee infested and tick teeming areas of the park. She pretended she didn’t see him and just moved along with the rest of her walk. I was dumbfounded.

“So wait…you didn’t turn around and get the hell out of there?!”

“No,” she replied matter-of-factly. “I just kept going and didn’t look back.”

“Wha…you didn’t even look back?! He could’ve been following you!”

She shrugged. “Hey, I walked a little faster.”

(Grrrrrr!) “Did you have your cellphone at least, to call help or whatever?”

“No, the battery was dead…again.”

(Grrrr! Must get new cellphone for Deb. Grrrr!) “OK, I’ll take care of that. So what the hell was this guy doing? Just standing there?”

“I dunno. I didn’t look.”

“So you’re sure he was naked? Like totally naked?!”

“Ooohhh yes, no doubt.”

“So not wearing, like, some tan khakis or something that looked like nude?”

“Not unless he was wearing those special khakis that have a pale, white ass.”

“So what the hell was he doing!?”

“I dunno. I said I didn’t look. I kept walking.”

“Was he like, walking around like he, I dunno, just took a dump or something? I can see someone getting desperate and just having to go.”

“No way. Not unless he’s George Constanza and likes to take his shirt off to go.”

“Was he with someone in there, or was he just hanging out alone?”

“Keith, I have no idea — I got moving as soon as I saw he was naked. I don’t know if he had a ‘friend’ in there with him or what.”

A few minutes pass as I absorb the story. For some reason I kept pressing on.

“Alright…so what did this guy look like? Was this some young guy or some old, tree-hugging bastard fucking a knothole or something?”

“I guess he seemed like in his forties or something.”

“Wait a minute — you could tell that from an ass?!”

She shrugged again. “I guess.”

Now paranoia swept over me. “He could’ve been in there finishing up a rape job or something, and you didn’t get the hell out of there right away? You wanted me to tell you when you have bouts of prenancy brain…” I looked at her suggestively. Then she said those scarring words.

“What if he wasn’t after girls?”

Holy lord, I never thought of that. I walk those fucking trails by myself once in a while, and while I’m no small man, there’s no telling what a determined, naked, bee stung, poison-ivy inflicted gay rapist would do to get a piece of this fine specimen. My machette of a hunting knife that I carried with me didn’t look so crazy afterall. Well OK, it’s a multi-tool, but it does have a blade I’m no longer afraid to use dammit!

Since the preceding conversation, I’ve been to the park with Guinness once. Luckily I had no run-ins with who I now call “naked park guy”. I looked overhead as I passed the area of the park where Deb saw naked park guy, looking for circling buzzards who may have been feasting on his victim from four days ago. I carefully scanned the area for any tell-tale evidence of wrong-doing, maybe finding the bent-over, fetid corpse of naked park guy’s last victim so I could report it to police and be a hero.

Who am I kidding — I ran by like a pussy.

Later down the trail where I really usually don’t see a soul, a man was walking by, fully dressed (thank you, God) in a three-piece suit. Mind you, this is on a humid 80-degree day, at 7PM on a weekday, in the middle of mosquito-infested forest. What the hell?! After I ran by him, I was immediately greeted by one of the largest pot smoke clouds I’d ever seen exhaled by a single human, and this was a bongless dude, mind you.

I guess I should take a lesson from who I now call “suited pot dude” and stop worrying about shit going down in the woods. Just relax, enjoy the outdoors, take in nature (wink) and dress like you own the fucking place.

If all that fails, run through those trails like a muthafucka.

In case you’ve never heard of ‘419 scams’, there’s more info here. Some people actually bait these scammers into a scam of their own, and the results are simply hilarious:

• The Holy Church of Fish, Bread and Wine
• Turning the tables on Nigeria’s e-mail conmen (BBC News)
• Sweet revenge