WMDs at WMB?
IN A COUNTY FAR AWAY. . .
Mustang called it right. 3:30 would have been a good
time to arrive and start rigging. But Mr. Moo was as Noo-where to be seen.
Nonetheless, all the usual weapons inspectors were at WMB ready to check
for WMDs of any and every variety (Wind of Much Delectation? and Waves
of Magnificent Design?) George all Hans on Deck Blix-Marr led the review
with an Ezzy 5.8 and his floater. Upwind "Uranium-in-my-Cranium"
Mike searched long and hard, but made no headway for a while. With Jeff
Tanenbaum supplying technical support, Frank "mobile weapons lab"
Messina rigged a massive technical looking 6.6 S. Meter 'Wind Detection
Array'. For a while there it even looked like even the most sensitive
equipment would divine no hidden pleasures.
Great lengths had been taken to assemble world-class expertise: Brookhaven National Laboratories' very own goiter-eyed, vulcan-eared, Larry "over-under-sideways-down" Hoff darn near failed to find a sniff of agitated flippable, skippable air, while bringing up the rear Marty "wanna buy some chemical mitts" Randall rolled up his rubber sleeves and prepared to dig deep into the brine to find any clue as to where the bloody wind might be hidden. Pete looking under every Roesch, Darth biohazard suit Domer and Stan the Proof also numbered among the seekers.
They looked east, they schlogged west, they scoured the sandbar, they dragged their blades thru the shallows, submerged, emerged. Blix-Marr was the first to get a whiff of something fair or foul. Like a crazed scent-hound he tore off on the trail, soon to be followed upwind by Uranium in my cranium Mike. The rumour had it that perhaps it was too warm, or maybe the wind was hidden in the clouds, maybe behind the clouds, perhaps in-between the clouds, or even over the top of the clouds. Secretary General Joe Rocco remained warm in civvies, parked among the general assembly of vehicles, and eventually turned to a magazine for amusement.
There may have been some truth to the cloud theory, for late in the afternoon the clouds broke like Humpty-Dumpty's speckled shell, and the game was afoot.
Blix-Marr had already thrown in his geiger counters
and may have left the scene before the tyrant wind finally blew its cover.
Now, Shred-detectors were going off all over the place. Kitesurfers fled,
running for cover, like a batallion of deserting paratroopers. Freaking
WMDs in the North Corner guys! -- everybody get a bag! Big, phat, top-to-bottom,
snarling Waves of Magnificent Design.and Wind of Monstrous Draftiness.
There was no hiding it anywhere, and if you didn't have the right set-up,
you just had to deal with it, and/or eat it -- the parking lot was just
too far east for a return trip. My 102 liter flat freestyle plank was
OOC and I blew up in the whitewater corner (Walls of Munching Dimensions).
Rich Skywalker Simons, disguised in a Stormtrooper outfit, was perhaps
the true believer of the bunch. Drawing from the Force he'd rigged a 5.3
and it proved to be a good choice, and he blasted clean through to the
end. Stan whose Proof was now in its element was richly rewarded for his
tenacity, and Uranium Mike wrung every last breath from it, till smoke-on-the-water
finally chased him ashore. As he lugged his bucking NR up the shingle
Darth Domer was heard to say, "look at young Skywalker Simons cutting
it up out there, damn I'm gonna rig down!!!" Darth was so invigorated
by the frothy scene he unsheathed a 4.7 Sq. Meter lightsaber, only to
be stymied by the gathering forces of darkness. It was weird wind all
right. But worth the wait.
WMB concealed WMD's (below)