When I was watching the horses at the track yesterday, admiring their athletic ability and grace, I was reminded of what I was thinking about at the lake this summer, watching people swim, "Fuck people are awkward looking motherfuckers." You would think people would start sinking one by one to the bottom more often than they do. Some folks believe human beings are the result of the mating of space aliens and dolphins. If that is the case, those space aliens had no swimming ability or athletic grace at all and it was more likely the space aliens were fucking pigs than dolphins. A lot easier to catch a pig to fuck than a dolphin. Dolphins are slippery as Osama bin Laden.
Sonja was with me at the track. After we watched the first horse I bet on finish at the back of the pack Sonja said, "There is only one cure for a losing streak like you're on. Let's get some drinks." For the rest of the day the drinks kept coming and my horses kept losing. I could hear the beer sloshing around in my roller derby belly every time I waved down our waitress for more drinks. By the end of our day at the races I felt like a Canuck fan: drunk, stupid and ugly.
After I had emptied my wallet of gambling money on the 8th race Sonja shook her head and said, "You need another hobby. You used to be good at this game." My gambling instincts have gone colder than a Greenland witch's tits.
It was off to the roller derby soon as the races were over. All you motherfuckers on bicycles sure make it difficult for a guy with a few drinks in him to navigate his car across town. Sonja must have shouted, "Watch out!" twenty times by the time we pulled into the parking lot of the roller derby arena. You cyclists will not be safe until your doped up city council closes every lane in the city to cars.
As we entered the arena I was struck by the smell of the old barn. It smelled like hot dogs and vagina, like Schneiders had sponsored a meat by-products roller derby porn movie. The roller girls were warming up on the track. I checked to make sure Roller Girl had not changed her name to Weiner Girl then we went upstairs to the beer garden. The beer garden smelled like beer and vagina. I breathed deeply and thought, "This is what the priests must tell their parishioners Heaven must smell like to keep their sheep dropping money in the collection plate."
Andi Struction's team was on first. They were playing a team from Victoria, a city whose only redeeming values are it's roller derby teams and Big Bad John's. I began to forget about the smell of hot dogs as the girls circled the track, pounding violently into one another at every opportunity. Watching Andi rack up the points made me forget about the price of beer; that lying motherfucker Gordon Campbell; and the paternity of Michael Jackson's children. Too bad Andi plays for the Canucks of the Dope City Roller Derby League. The sweet, smelly girls from Victoria are starting to play derby better than the politicians in their town can blow smoke out of their ass. Andi's team is starting to pile up the biggest losing streak in roller derby history.
As the girls were battling it out below us on the floor a little girl, bored with her parents, approached Sonja and I to chat. Sonja asked her, "Are you having fun?" The girl was vibrating like a crackhead with a winning lottery ticket in her hand.
"YEAH!!!" she screamed over the disco din of the sound system, the roaring crowd and voices of roller derby announcers Mack the Mouth and the Long Hair Fucker With the Mouth. She was holding a sign bigger than her that read, "KILL!!!"
"Have you had any pop tonight?" I asked.
We went down onto the floor to watch the championship between the Riot Girls and the Bad Reputations. Roller derby is the only sport in town that gives you the opportunity to watch a championship game from the front row for $20.
Beside us sat two young ladies who oohed and aawed like little girls in a roomful of kittens every time Trixie came on the floor. I was drunk and they were real pretty so I leaned over to one of them and asked her, "Would the two of you pretty young ladies like to come home with Sonja and I tonight?"
She checked out Sonja, leaned over to her girlfriend, whispered something in her ear and gave me my answer, "Oh yeah," she cooed, "the three of us will have a real good time once you have passed out!"
On the floor the championship became progressively more violent. Heads, knees, elbows and asses bounced off the floor like a plane crash. The Riot Girls surged to the lead, it looked like we would not be hearing Joan Jett's "Bad Reptutation" as we staggered from the building tonight. But the Bad Reputations surged right back. In the end the Bad Reps' Roller Girl, she really is the Bobby Orr of the league, was just too much for the Riot Girls. It is a good thing I like Joan Jett's song.
I stole one more glance at Andi on the sidelines, maybe those space aliens did mate with a few dolphins after all, and Sonja and I rolled on down the highway to a warm bed with a barf bucket beside it. On the way we encountered a terrible motorcycle accident. I stopped and took over the first aid responsiblities because I was the most qualified person there. It was a crazy scene. I am always calm when I have had more than a few beer however. Motorcycle boy was pretty bent up, his summer was over, but he could still feel his extremities and he was still talking. The paramedics showed up, I told them what I knew and got out of the fucking way. Usually I leave an accident scene as soon as I can but they had called in a helicopter ambulance to take buddy to the hospital so I stayed to watch the show. There was a blond policewoman at the scene. I chatted her up. She was tall and she was hot. She was Roller Girl with a gun. She looked like she would be a good addition to Andi's team. I asked her if she would like to come home with Sonja and I sometime. She looked at me disapprovingly.
That's the story of my life.