Wendy/Darwin says, "Accepted into the Archive."

Several of my cousins and I went to Mazatlan to get a little sun for the holidays. It was beautiful: Sun, sea, sand, well-bult hombres in small bathing suits, tropical drinks, everything you could ever wish for on a week-long "No freakin' SNOW to shovel here!" winter holiday. Boats were rented, sunscreen was slathered on, rum-related judgment-imparing drinks were aplenty, what could possibly go sideways?

Enter my 34-year-old Uncle Evan, 22-year-old Uncle Pinky, and their 58-year-old mom, Aunt Mitzi. If the Olympics ever makes Near Death Experiences a medal event, these three will clean up! Their favorite warm-weather activity is water-skiing, especially after the consumption of two or three drinks with paper umbrellas floating atop them. The lack of a tow rope vexed my three colorful relatives until one of them, Dyonisus the God of Drunken Inspiration knows which one, but this child of Jim Beam and Bacchus recruited the other two to help execute their plan to MAKE a tow rope so they could go skiing. The ingredients for this missing item? Deep sea fishing line (check), the ability to tie it to the back of the fishing boat (check), the patience to braid it until they had about fifty yards of doom-in-the-making (check), and a handle to affix to the rope so no one would hurt their hands (Mitzi's always up for sacrificing her bikini top for a good cause).

I wanted to turn away when I heard the boat engine start, but it was just like watching a train wreck. No good was going to come of this, yet I could not turn away. Mitzi jumped in the boat, next to Uncle Evan. Uncle Pinky put on the waterskis, got in position, and shouted "Hit it!", which Uncle Evan did, getting the boat up to warp nine before the inevitable happened: The braided line suffered what NASA would call a "catastrophic failure", snapping in half somewhere along the length of its braid, along with untying at the bikini top, knot in the boat, and Posiedon only knows where else (Greek gods don't send you an e-mail explaining the mess, they just laugh themselves into a spasm), sending the out-of-control Pinky over a low boat ramp and into the open hold of a fishing bolt, where highly irate Mexican fishermen threw him overboard, Mitzi got a couple of "fishing line lashes" across her back, and Uncle Evan narrowly missed plowing into a tourist boat due to the combination of excess speed and nothing draging behind his boat.

I speak enough Spanish to understand that no one was hurt, the fishermen were TORQUED!, the passengers on the tourist boat were horrified, and the authorities would prefer that my, um, gravity-enhanced, Aunt Mitzi please keep her top ON in the future. Their tickets could best be described as "disturbing the peace" and "public drunkenness", which added up to about $130 American in fines, and a good scolding from the judge.

This could have had tragic results, Pinky could have broken his neck, and Evan could have sank the tourist boat (which was chock-full of little kids) had he hit it. As for me, I'm gonna stay home and shovel the driveway this year.

Submitted on 01/07/2010

Submitted by: bIrqul@hotmail.com
Reference: Sadly, there isn't one. Just several moderately to alarmingly pickled friends and cousins 12/29/09.

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Bruce said:
Definitely Keep: Personal Account
I could see where this was headed from almost the beginning. My training with the US Coast Guard included a LOT of experience in towing boats of all sizes, and it was drilled into your head from the very beginning that you NEVER stood directly behind the tow line in case it snapped. When towing a multi-ton vessel the recoil from a snapping line could be deadly. Your Aunt Mitzi is lucky she just got away with a few welts. Thanks for a wild story and a very humorous writeup!

Candi said:
Definitely Keep: Personal Account
LOL!!! I started chuckling about a third of the way through this, and was howling by the end. Love it! Thanks, blrqul!

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