by Jack Handey
What was wrong with her? Was she crazy? A pretty girl who was also crazy was something I’d never heard of.
I kept my cool. Calmly, slowly, I climbed to the top of the cabin. I became perfectly still. Then, with a jolt, I began doing my funny cowboy dance. I pulled out all the stops. I did the “agitated leg while the other leg is straight,” the tiptoe prance, the bowlegged forward scoot, and the galloping in place with eyes crossed.
The monkeys in the trees began screaming. Hold on monkeys, I’m just getting warmed up.
“Get down!” said Leilani. Oh, yeah, mama, I’m gettin’ down. I did the cowboy peekaboo before switching to the pretending-to-lasso-something-that-pulls-you-off-your-feet.
“Get down!” Leilani yelled. She and Don hit the deck. Something stuck in my forehead. It was a blow dart. “Oww!” I moaned, because it hurt. Leilani pulled me down just as several more darts ka-thunked into the cabin.
I remembered the old Boy Scout saying: “Deal with the dart, That’s where you start, Then deal with the poison, And not vice-voison.” I pulled the dart out and threw it away. But it stuck in my foot. I threw it away again.
My head started swimming. I began to shimmy uncontrollably, like Uncle Lou before the paramedics came. My whole body was heaving upward, like Uncle Lou when they applied the electric paddles to him. I began to curse hysterically, like Uncle Lou when he got the hospital bill.
Here’s a tip: if your friend Don says, “Bite down on this,” he means the stick in his hand, not his finger.
Leilani appeared, hovering over my face, chewing gum. No, wait, she’s not chewing gum, she’s chewing leaves. From her basket. She took the pulp out of her mouth and applied it to my forehead and my foot. As she leaned over me, I wanted to kiss her, but she had really bad leaf breath.
Blow-Dart Dreams
IT FELT like elves were hammering nails into my head, but with no rhyme or reason.
Then it felt like I was rolling around on a bed of thumbtacks. But this was no party game.
Terrifying visions swirled through my head: an alarm clock going off; a riding lawn mower with my name on it; a man happily rocking from side to side, playing a banjo. The blow-dart poison was destroying my mind, and not in a good way.
I saw myself as a termite, feeling so proud of the tunnel I had dug with my own mouth.
I was on a crashing airplane. The old man next to me was praying. Down and down we went. I started hitting the old man with a rolled-up magazine, yelling, “Pray harder, old man!”
I imagined myself falling through the air, without a parachute. I landed on a big haystack. Then I fell off the haystack onto a bale of cotton. Then I fell onto the ground and really twisted my ankle.
I saw myself with a beehive stuck on my head. Then I saw myself putting a sombrero on top of it, so I could go to a costume party as a Mexican beehive.
I became a snowflake, drifting slowly to earth. I was different from every other snowflake, and they let me know it.
I was walking on a tightrope, high above the crowd. Suddenly the Human Cannonball went flying by, almost knocking me off. And I thought, What has become of circus safety standards?
I dreamed I was swimming upstream, fighting my way up waterfalls, until I came to a slow, shallow pool, where I laid my eggs.
I saw myself being dragged behind a horse by a bunch of rowdy cowboys. I wondered why they were dragging me, then I realized: it was my clean clothes and cheerful attitude.
I became a mummy, driving a car. And I thought, Why am I driving a car? Then I understood: I was plowing down pedestrians.
I was an angel in Heaven, eating a piece of pie. Another angel asked me where I got the pie. I just laughed and said, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
I held a point of brilliant white light in my hands. It didn’t even burn. Wait, now it’s really starting to burn.
I saw the Pelican God, sitting on a throne. I threw him a fish, but he just looked at it. Then he began jabbing me with his heavenly beak.
I woke up. Leilani was poking me with a stick. “He okay now,” I heard her say.
Hangover
I DON’T know if you’ve ever had a blow-dart hangover, but they are the worst. It makes you swear never to get hit by one again.
I decided to make one last play for Leilani. If there’s ever a time women will feel sorry for you, it’s after you’ve been hit by a blow dart. But there would be no mercy this time. I would go for the “Nice Guy Approach.” This is where you bring things to the woman and act like you’re interested in what she’s thinking. It’s the dirtiest trick of all, and I usually don’t like to use it.
Leilani was wiping motor grease off her hands. It made her even sexier. I poured a couple of scotches, fluffed up my beret, and sat down next to her.
“I want to thank you for what you did,” I said, pointing to my foot, which was three times its normal size. She didn’t say anything. I continued: “But I don’t understand. Who would want to shoot us with poison darts? Teenagers?”
“Teenagers?” said Leilani, irritated. “Not teenagers. Natives.”
“Natives? But why?”
“White man steal land, bring disease, make native feel like stranger in own country.”
I wanted to tell her, first of all, that Don and I were there to steal gold, not land. And second, what were the other things again?
Leilani set her scotch aside and started to get up. I stopped her. “Wait,” I said, trying to look shy. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, but when I was unconscious, I dreamed I was kissing you. Your lips were warm and tender, and so were mine.”
I closed my eyes, extended my tongue, and leaned over to kiss her. I tumbled overboard.
More Darts
OVER THE next few days I was hit by at least twenty more blow darts. I was hit by several as I was standing on the front tip of the boat, pretending to be a hood ornament (as a joke). When I woke up, I asked Leilani how many blow darts had hit me. She seemed annoyed: “What, me your personal blow-dart counter?”
She wouldn’t even chew up the mulch. She just left her basket of leaves next to me. You know things are going downhill when your girlfriend won’t chew your mulch anymore.
Once I chewed the wrong leaf. It gave me a massive swelling of the pakeeni. I kept a few of those leaves.
More darts hit me. I think it was Gerald Ford who said that a man can only take so many blow darts before he snaps.
But then, after a while, the darts didn’t bother me so much. I would get a headache and some cotton mouth, that was about it. I learned to swat most of them away like mosquitoes.
The most annoying thing was, why was I the only one getting hit? Even after I pinned a “Shoot Me” sign on the back of Don’s shirt. Leilani claimed I was “paloonka,” which means having a disruptive spirit that offends the very plane of the universe, upsetting the natural flow of events. How do you fight crazy native superstition like that?
The Helicopter
WHILE DON and Leilani worked on the engine together, I went off to look for arrowheads. I collect arrowheads, if I ever find one.
I went farther and farther into the jungle. Arrowhead? No. Arrowhead? No. Arrowhead? No. Sometimes you wonder if the Pelican God even cares if you find an arrowhead.
Suddenly there was a weird popping sound. The palm trees began flapping around like Grandpa when the horseflies got him. A helicopter was hovering right above me.
I have never heard anything good coming from a bullhorn. And this was no exception. “Good afternoon, Mister Slurps.”
It was Doctor Ponzari!
He was wearing a neck brace, and his leg was in a cast. The cast looked like it had been autographed by several people. His suit was dusty and torn, and his hands and arms were covered with gopher bites.
“Mister Slurps, I spoke with the insurance company, and they will not require you to talk to the claims adjustor. Besides, he’s still in rehab,” he said. “The insurance people say you just need to sign this form.” He he
ld up a clipboard. “And then I can submit a claim.”
I did what I always do whenever someone wants me to sign a clipboard: I ran. The helicopter chased me through the jungle like the horseflies chased Grandpa. I stumbled and fell.
The helicopter was right above me and coming lower. I noticed the reflection from my medallion bouncing around in the shadows. I blew my breath onto the medallion and polished it with my beret. I aimed the beam into the eyes of the pilot. “AAAEEEEEE!” he shrieked, clawing at his face.
The helicopter began spinning about wildly, drifting this way and that. Doctor Ponzari grabbed the stick to control it, but it was no use. The helicopter slammed into a sheer rock face and exploded. Then, as if trying to cling on to the cliff, the helicopter skidded down it and exploded again. Then sank into a swamp. There was silence, followed by a muffled explosion.
I thought about the pilot’s wife. Each night when he came home, she would be waiting for him at the door with a rolling pin. He had a bad marriage.
Lost
YES, DOCTOR Ponzari was dead, but it had come at a horrible price: I was lost. In a split second, the jungle changed. No longer was it the friendly, happy place you normally think of. The scorpion wasn’t the cute little spiky guy anymore, and the leeches all over your legs didn’t seem quite so funny.
I staggered through the woods. I told myself to quit staggering, to stand up and walk straight. That would work for a while, but it’s funny how strong that stagger instinct is.
There were times when I thought, I can’t take another step. And there were times when I could barely crawl. And then there were times when I thought I could crawl forever.
I fell into some quicksand. I sank up to my waist. I flopped back and forth. Using all my strength, I was able to pull myself out. Later I found out that what I had fallen into is known as “fool’s quicksand.”
My bad luck continued. I tripped a native booby trap, and a sharp, wooden stake whipped around and hit me in the medallion, leaving a dent in it.
I looked around for some bugs to eat. If you get hungry enough, believe me, you will eat bugs. My friend Jerry found that out the hard way. He was slow getting the snacks out for a party once and we ate his butterfly collection.
I learned where to find water, and that you shouldn’t look into a geyser hole when it’s gurgling.
I built myself a nest of branches in a tree to sleep in. Soon I learned to tie the branches down so that when I lay down on them I wouldn’t fall through.
I threw my clothes off. I found a tar pit and smeared my body with tar. Then I covered myself with feathers.
Crazy thoughts went through my head. Why, I wondered, would anyone invite the Two Stupid Idiots to launch a ship? And why would nitroglycerin come in a bottle that looked like a champagne bottle?
I ate fruit from the trees without even washing it.
I became aware of each moment.
I had become a brute savage.
The Laughter of Children
I PONDERED my next course of action. Finally, I settled on a plan, and put it into motion. I had just begun my nap when I was awakened by the sound of children playing. Children playing? That could only mean one thing: I had to go tell them to be quiet.
I followed the sound. The children saw me, screamed, and ran away through the gate of a native village. A village? I was saved! Or was I? I knew from the brochures that there were many native tribes in Hawaii. Some were peaceful, some were warlike. Some were friendly, some unfriendly. Some welcomed strangers, some didn’t. Some were helpful, others not that helpful. Some got right to the point while others droned on and on, making the same point over and over.
I decided to take a chance. I hadn’t eaten a decent meal in three days, hadn’t slept in two, and couldn’t remember the last time I had defecated. Soon, I hoped, I would be doing all three.
I didn’t want to meet the natives in my tar and feathers. It seemed too casual. So I cleaned up and put on my old clothes. My beret was missing. I saw a monkey wearing it as underpants. It seemed so wrong.
As I approached the village gate, several scowling natives emerged. I walked up with a smile, my arms held wide in friendship, and was hit with a wall of blow darts. When I didn’t go down, the natives were puzzled.
The chief stepped forward. He reared back to throw his spear at me. I flashed my medallion at him. It’s well known that natives fear the power of the medallion. It worked. He lowered his spear and approached. He was impressed. “This yours?” he said, as he respectfully examined it. I nodded.
Patangis
THE NATIVES called themselves Patangis. The chief told me that in their culture, it was an honor if your parents weren’t married, if you were a bastard. Then he asked me if my parents had been married. The whole tribe seemed to lean forward for my response. “No,” I said, hoping to provide the right answer, “I’m a bastard.” They all broke into convulsive laughter. It was the oldest Patangi joke in the book, but it still worked.
The Patangis said I was a god, and that only gods could climb up palm trees and pick coconuts for them. I insisted that I wasn’t a god, but they said oh yes I was. We went back and forth like that. Finally, I climbed about halfway up a tree trunk and fell off. They seemed to respect that.
I enjoyed my time with the Patangis. The women had no shame about their bodies. Unfortunately, neither did the men.
Like many tribes, they practiced cannibalism, but they weren’t in your face about it.
They had a bunch of interesting sayings that I had never heard, like “Red sky at morning, sailor for dinner.”
The Patangis had no concept of money. Whenever I would ask them for money, they didn’t seem to have any idea what I was talking about.
I tried to show them some of our modern ways, such as how to use a spoon. It’s funny how when people are watching you do something you can’t do it.
The Feast
THE PATANGIS threw a big feast in my honor. There were beautiful dancing girls, pounding drums, and a strong drink made from fermented saliva. I was treated to a special batch of fifteen-year-old saliva.
Mount Palinka was spewing lava high into the nighttime sky. It was like a fireworks show, only not as good.
The chief got a little drunk. He started philosophizing. He said the trouble with the world was “Mans not able communicate other mans.” He also said the Golden Monkey was overrated.
The featured entertainment consisted of throwing captured prisoners into a pool of electric eels. It might seem barbaric to us, but is it really so different from making a ballerina dance across a stage until she’s out of breath?
Next came a stand-up comedian brought in all the way from Honolulu. I felt sorry for him having to follow the electric eels, but he was really funny. He had a big cigar and told jokes about the differences between Patangis and non-Patangis and the differences between men and women. Also he told some political jokes that were pretty edgy. I laughed and laughed.
A little while later I saw his severed head on a stake. What was more upsetting, he had several cigars stuffed in his mouth, even though he had told me earlier he didn’t have any more cigars. I looked around, pulled out the cigars, and tucked them inside my shirt.
Decisions
IT TURNED out to be a surprise party. The surprise was Don and Leilani brought out in cages. When I saw them, the liquor sprayed out of my mouth. The droplets turned into a big fireball as they passed over the campfire. Some natives applauded.
The tribe decided they were going to slowly eat Don, and as guest of honor I was going to be offered the choice pieces. I wanted to tell them there were no choice pieces of Don.
I was in a fix. If I didn’t eat, I would offend my hosts. But if I ate, and later Don asked me how his foot tasted, I might have to lie and say it was great, even if it wasn’t.
Then came an even bigger problem. The natives pulled Leilani from her cage. She knocked a couple of them out cold before they finally got a grip on her. They dragged her to t
he edge of the precipice. They planned to throw her into the glowing river of lava, as a sacrifice to the volcano. They looked to me for a signal.
What could I do? If I didn’t stop the ceremony, the natives would throw Leilani into the lava. But if I did, there would probably be no more drinks or dancing girls. If I saved her, it might rekindle our romance. But if I let them throw her in, it would probably be over between us.
There was a commotion. A beautiful young maiden was fighting with her lover. She screamed at him and, breaking away, ran and jumped off the cliff, into the molten lava below. Her lover wailed and pulled his hair, then ran and jumped as well. This seemed to satisfy everyone, and after a few more drinks we called it a night.
Adiós, Patangis
BY THE next morning the volcano had calmed down. Say what you want about human sacrifices, they can’t hurt.
The villagers escorted Don and Leilani and me to the gate. The chief pointed at my medallion and said, “What category?”
I waved my hand over one side of it and said, “Abraham Lincoln,” then flipped it over and said, “Lesbians.” He seemed confused, then laughed. I laughed, too. It’s only polite.
I wanted to give the chief a present. But what? That’s when I felt the little hula girl in my pocket. I had forgotten all about her! As I handed it to him I gave her a tap, to show him how it worked. He was speechless.