by Moncrief P. Schinsnauzer — Dissociative Press— Granny’s Gap, Ga. — August 6-7, 2005.  They Stole My Paddles
It was one of the most depraved exhibitions of hostility I have ever witnessed,” said new GCA member,. Moncrief P. Schinsnauzer, of an incident which occurred at the outset of the recent Flint River excursion.
          “The two of them fought like enraged hyenas over a water jug filled with reeking gelatinous mold, oblivious to the gang of feral teenage sociopaths, who they later claimed made off with their gear. The woman went into a ferocious snit that I can only describe as pure evil as the paddles were discovered
to be missing at the put-in. She pulled a gun and demanded paddles from us. I was frightened.”
     Nadir of Decadence On August 6, 2005, notorious self-unemployed shoal bums John and Betty (more than likely flagrant pseudonyms) were at it again. Posing as legitimate canoeists they conned unsuspecting GCA Vice President Vincent Payne. Having no inkling of the inevitable course of events to follow, Mr. Payne allowed the usurpers a place with his outfit of sober, sane and inoffensive recreational boaters. Trouble began almost immediately. John hid near the liquor store until the boats were loaded. Betty vehemently denounced all present when she had to untie a previously well stowed couch to facilitate a frantic last second search for a misplaced Professional Gourmet Model Conflagration #3 electric range. This is when the irreversible downward spiral began in earnest. Betty, looking for the electric stove, found in the water jug a thriving slime mold colony. She then in a maelstrom of obscenity somewhat eloquently berated John.In retaliation for the verbal ambuscade, John threw the paddles in a dumpster with malevolent glee, blaming it on the aforementioned eccentrically dressed adolescents.
Learning at the boat ramp the paddles had gone missing, Betty produced an assault rifle from her pocket book, ordering the meek and defenseless Karen to “cough up the oars.”

       According to Moncrief P. Schinsnauzer, this is the point at which he walked to the Riverside Inn for a quick beer. The GCA floaters were so stricken with fear that upon embarking they had a snack. The others in the water, John stole several items from the bed of an apparently abandoned 1980 Datsun pick up. Among them were a broom and a brand new plunger. Schinsnauzer returned with several erudite Riverside Inn patrons at this time in a failed bid to apprehend the despicable duo. It was too late. They had escaped down river. John was overheard to say to Betty, “Oh, my celestial beauty, would you prefer to propel us with the broom or the plumber’s friend?”
   I’d Know Them Anywhere Mortimer Quentin Findleswitch Blowbladder, eccentric herpetologist, long time Merriwether County resident and occasional day laborer, was releasing salt water crocodiles into the river that peaceful August Saturday morning to “give the tourists a charge” when he saw some canoes float by. “I didn’t pay ’em no mind but right behind that first bunch of nice lookin’ folks a white headed old man was floppin’ like a gut shot eel on a bed o’ hot coals. He had a broom churnin’ the water and that pore lady was a’ tryin’ to git the commode unstopped. They looked bad suspicious. Like a steam boiler explosion ’bout to happen and a rusty number ten wash tub all co-mixed. I’d recognize ’em any where. I ain’t seen nothing to beat it since Harry Hopkins had Uncle Calvin haul a thousand gallon still down to the Cove on a boat made out of heart pine logs and a model A ford engine back in ’33. It sank.”
      Blowbladder, 92, of Chalybeate Springs, also says that the pair bought four water moccasins from him and enquired about the purchase of some cone nosed kissing bugs for the purpose of creating conversation around the camp. Blowbladder readily admits selling the venomous reptiles but denies illicit bug trading on the grounds that he is not an etymologist. “I’m a herp. Maybe I got snakes in the head but them bugs make me nervous.”
    Couple Wreak Havoc at Camp Site
“Those two were already here. I don’t know how they arrived here before us,” Jean, a kayaker of international renown, sighed wearily. “Glass littered the ground all around our truck. The windows were shattered. John said he thought that someone may have broken the windows in search of rum or fishing line to tie out some snakes. Betty snarled from the cab that the ignition lock prevented her from hot wiring the truck. She asked me for a large slide hammer. Their behavior was quite a shock to me. I went fishing.”
      “We made a superhuman effort to ignore them,” an anguished Dave related. “They hovered around our cooking fire like buzzards, smoking cigars, swilling something that smelled like acetone, and drooling over our crepe suzettes and quiche.” In an affidavit later made to the authorities, Dave stated that he made known his wish to use the out house. “I was mocked. Both of them made rude comments, saying that I was required to first pray to a River Spirit for some incomprehensible sort of precision earth quakes and lightning strikes in order to put the creeks right, also to bring back to life Edward Abbey and Brainard Cheney. The most horrific thing was the banner they had hung from the privy. It depicted a nude woman covered with snakes riding an alligator and had a slogan, ‘More Beyond’. Weeks of counseling and I still have nightmares.”
       The Ordeal Finally Ends
“When we awoke the next morning they were gone,” stated Vince, “With our boats. The Evil River Twins set off before dawn into a howling hail storm on a flooding river.” An overnight series of storms had caused the normally placid Flint to metamorphose into a raging torrent. It crested late on the seventh at 900,000 CFS. The National Weather Service termed the event an anomaly of staggering proportions. “At least we didn’t capsize or lose any fishing poles,” the universally esteemed Vice-President philosophized.
       At press time both shoal bums, Johnny Flush and Badswim Betty were at large. They have been known to frequent boat ramps, fish camps and swamps of ill repute. They should be considered extremely weird.

(Note from Vincent: I had to include this “trip report” on the web site because it is so uniquely weird.  As David B. said, “unfortunately the only thing John got right was our names. “.