Rock Out With Your Cock Out!

My father and I are very mechanically inclined. We have dropped countless engines into countless autos, we have repaired and maintained everything from our own roof shingles to our own septic tank system as well as our heating system (furnace that runs on oil!), and our well-based water system. If more people were like us, many businesses would go out of business.

Needless to say my father and I spend a lot of time together, which at once makes our relationship very fulfilling and as well as quite prone to surprises and extremely vocal arguments. It also means we have the same kind of humour. For example, at lunch today (which we have at 10:30 am because we're out in the yard by 6:30 am) mom made Chicken Cacciatore. She was telling us she got the recipe from Martha Stewert and went on to tell us how she prepared it and what ingredients she used. The last ingredient was Virgin Olive Oil, and my dad busts out the "It's never been fucked?" I said, "I hope not." And mom called us both retards.

Anyway, today dad and I spent the morning canvassing the local junk yards for a glow-plug control for our diesel van which is currently on the fritz. After exhausting all of the locales that we collectively know, we made our way to Newmarket to pick up some supplies I needed to design my girlfriend a shirt for her work-slash-golfing day tomorrow. I went into Zellers in the 404 plaza and when I came back with nothing in hand, dad asked me to call a phone number he’d gotten in the office of one of the wreckers. It said “Mike, Tow Dolly, $500 FIRM.” For those of you that have no idea what a Tow Dolly is, first, no it’s not a doll. It’s something you use to two cars behind your vehicle. Anyway, I called the number and Mike’s wife answered, “Mike is still sleeping, can you call back around 1?” I said sure and hung up. We made our way to Staples.

Dad dropped me off at home while he went to go see his friend Nick. Upon returning, and sometime after lunch, Dad called Mike again and this time Mike was awake. Dad made an appointment and we left just as I was sending my cousin Chris the prototype for the wife’s shirt.

So we’re driving looking for twenty-twenty-one-seven Kennedy Rd. which is about 20 minutes North-West of our house. We missed it on the first pass, so we turned around and found it. Mike’s drive way was very long, treed with tall pines, and had a bulldozer and other various CAT brand heavy-duty vehicles just off to the side of the drive. It looked like they were making their driveway wider. Up ahead I could see a small stiff-arm gate, the type that swings up to let you in, and down to keep you out. We passed a small sign that said, “Slow down to 10 KM! Dust! Cough Cough!” I thought that was cute. What wasn’t so cute was the abrupt sign that I only caught as we were pulling up to what looked like the main building. It read, “The New Forest Family Naturist Resort.”

A Nudist camp. I’m not fucking kidding.

I could not believe my eyes as dad set the Pathfinder in park. Nekkid couples playing volleyball, nekkid dudes playing cards, and a nekkid dude walking up to our Pathfinder. He came over to my side and I asked, thanking God in my mind I wore sunglasses, “Are you Mike?” He said, “Yes I am.” He smiled. It wasn’t a creepy smile, it was a smile that said, “Hahaha. You’re surprised, aren’t you?” (Maybe that is a little creepy) He said, “I guess I should’ve told you guys what kind of place this was?” I opened the door and looked around, catching a lily-white-old-balls heaving to make a bump. “Yea, I guess.” Mike’s portly frame jiggled as he chuckled and adjusted his baseball cap that read “REAL NAKED BEER”.

“All right, well you guys come follow me. The dolly is up at my place.” On the 5 minute walk to his place he explained that the park was divided into two sections: One side of the pond (which was fairly large, yet not tree lined. It appeared to be manmade) was for people who lived at the park the whole year round (which happens to be the side that Mike lives on), and the other, which is for those who wish to rent during the summer months. (I’m totally renting there next year. Whose in?)

I made a joke about it being “Tough living” living there in the winter. I was alluding to being naked during the winter and freezing your balls off. He didn’t get it and asked “Why would it be?” I recovered by saying that the road must be hell in his neck of the wood. (I guess being naked 24/7 makes you dense when it comes to naked humour) When we got to his place we looked at the dolly and he showed us the winch, the wheel straps, and the chains that come with the dolly. Whenever I got the chance I swept the area for the prospect of seeing hot chicks, no such luck. It was old people who have no business being naked. After a good twenty minutes of chatting with this naked dude, it didn’t feel weird. We haggled the price, agreed on 450 with the magnet lights thrown in, put down a deposit, made arrangements to return on Wednesday. As we were coming down the long driveway we'd come up, Dad and I made some comments in tagalog about it being a sausage fest, then talked about what we’d do with the dolly when we had it. The conversation died down for about 10 minutes until we were sitting at a light and I said, “That fucking shit can’t be comfortable. How can you rock out with your cock out all day like that?” My dad busted out laughing and says, “That place looks like it has a lot of mosquitoes.” I laughed for five minutes straight.