[3 Min Read]
“Do you think he’s actually going to be out today?” Asks one teen to another as he struggles through the thick swamp muck.
“He’s always out, Tony!” The other teen slashed through the thick underbrush with a machete. “It’s only a matter of catching him in the act.”
“But, let’s be real, Billy, he’s probably just something the news makes up on slow days.”
“No way!” Billy denies passionately, “The ‘Florida Man,’ isn’t something that can just be made up!”
Tony rests a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “I just hate to see you disappointed is all.”
He shoves his companion’s hand away, “Where’s your faith at, Tony? I swear you’ve changed since middle school. Just because you were the first one to grow a mustache doesn’t mean you have-” A sudden loud crash interrupted Billy’s monologue, “Did you hear that?” He bolts off in the direction of the sound
“B-Billy! Wait up!” His best friend chases after him
Forcing their way through further underbrush the boys come across a man dressed in a red, mesh, Coors-light brand baseball cap, a yellow crop top tee-shirt with the faded words’ FBI – Female Body Inspector’ written across the chest, and cut off jean shorts in a heated battle with the most massive alligator either boy had ever seen.
The man straddled the beast as it attempted to buck him off like a raging bull, but the more it bucked, the tighter his grip became. “Stop struggling! You’ll like it in my bathtub, damn-it!”
Billy’s eyes sparkled as his lips curled into a smile. “Florida-man!”
The man snapped his neck towards the boys, providing the man-eating gator the opportunity it had been waiting for. The alligator jerked forward, sending Florida-man tumbling to the ground, his beer gut jiggled from the blow. Free of its attacker, the crock disappeared into the marsh.
“Florida-Man, do you need some help?” Billy wadded through the muck towards his prone position.
With cat-like agility, Florida-Man flipped to all fours, shot the boys a nasty look, then slunk away into the bayou with remarkable speed.
“Damn it!” Billy slapped his knee. His friend appeared at his side and patted his shoulder. “I just wanted an autograph,” Billy examined his mud-soaked hat with remorse.
“It’s alright, bud.” Tony counseled him, “Most people don’t even get to see him let alone get an autograph.”
“I guess,” Billy wiped his nose with the length of his arm
“Besides,” Tony continued, “odds are, he probably can’t write anyway.”
Already a fan of my work and want to see how you can help keep the stories coming? Check out my Patreon at patreon.com/artoflupin.
Follow my ramblings @artoflupin on twitter!
**Photo Credit: Skitterphoto**