The absurd adventures of Whalebone Jim #3

Whalebone Jim woke up from his siesta. It was already late afternoon. He hardly remembered how he got home from the beach, where he hung out earlier, after his buddy had dropped him off at the liquor store. Whale stumbled to the bathroom to take a piss. His face was hurting and his ribs seemed bruised. As he walked by the mirror, he caught a glimpse of himself.
“Son of a bitch…look at that black eye!” He examined himself closer. His right eye was swollen shut and radiated a colorful palate of blue, purple and shades of green. Slowly bits and pieces of memory sputtered back into his mind from what had happened at the beach. Somehow, Hector, who worked at the beach club, right next to Whalebone’s hangout spot, had taken offense when he caught him drunk on the property. Jim was trying to sleep off his beer coma in one of the beach chairs under a parasol, belonging to the club.  
“ You can’t be here man, this is for club members only, you know that bro.”  
“Fuck you maricón….”  
Hector was a strong young fella, with well defined biceps. He had an amazing tolerance for the misbehavior of gringos, like many Mexicans, but there was a limit to the bullshit he was willing to put up with. Whalebone and he had had squabbles before and they always made up afterwards. It was just guy’s business.  
He grabbed Whalebone by the arm and yanked him out of the chair. Whale started waving his spindly arms around and tried to evade the firm grip, but he was too inebriated to be able to coordinate his effort. “Get the fuck off me…fucker…damn maricón…!”He groaned and weaved and mumbled and then….boom…a fist landed in his face. He flew backwards, legs up in the air, like a beetle struggling to get back up, just he couldn’t quite figure out where up was. Hector thought this enough for now: “Go home borracho. Don’t come here again when you’re drunk like this.” He walked off leaving Whalebone to figure out how to get back on his legs, which eventually he did. Long story short, he managed mysteriously to make it back to his house and fell on his mattress to sleep off the rest of it.  
 
While he was looking at himself in the mirror, trying to put himself and the pieces of what had transpired at the beach back together, he heard a knock on the door.  
He shuffled across the room and opened it. It was his friend Mr H.  
“Dude…what the fuck? You got beat up AGAIN?”  
“Yeah, just a little wrestle with my friend Hector at the beach club. Nothing to worry about. Tomorrow we smoke a joint together and shoot the shit. That’s how it goes.”  
Mr. H, was used to seeing Whalebone mangled up. It happened almost on a weekly basis, because Whale couldn’t keep his mouth shut when he should, and ran on pure bravado since his physical condition was rather poor.  
“I’m dropping by to let you know there will be a drum circle at the beach tonight. Anna and I are going. Do you want to come?”  
“Sounds like hippie shit…don’t care about drumming but as long as there is beer and mota deal me in. Who knows, maybe after all I am turning from a redneck into a hippie. I will be there by sundown.”  
 
A few hours later the silhouette of a man with spindly legs sticking out of a pair of shorts, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a cowboy hat, carrying a plastic bag with beer cans, arrived at the beach. It was almost dark and the group of people gathering was a mix of older and younger folks, some hippies, some crust punks with tattoos, dreadlocks and wild piercings. Bonfires were lit and joints were passed around. Anna and Mr. H were sitting on the sidelines drinking Tequila out of a flask. Even Clarence had found his way to the drum circle. He was talking to a small group of crusties about bamboo farming and the need to be prepared for the disasters to come.  
Whalebone sat down next to Anna and Mr. H. He was on his fourth can of beer, enough to be functional but not yet out of control.  
“Pass me the flask…!”  
“Here, but don’t slam it all down, the night is still young.”  
The drumming started and people were dancing. It was a tribal atmosphere…dreadlocks flying in the air…folks letting themselves go.  
 “Like a bunch of savages…I bet before this is over people will be copulating on the beach. Too bad these aren’t my kinds of chicks.” Whalebone mumbled while observing the scenery.  
Then he yelled and waved: “Hey Clarence, remember me from the beach the other day? Come hang with us dude.”  
Clarence approached the three sitting on the sidelines. “Jim…I remember…what happened to your face?”  
“A man gotta do what a man gotta do…Just guy’s business.”  
Clarence seemed amused but didn’t insist on further explanations.  
“I was just talking to the kid over there and he knows about a commune in Guatemala. They do organic farming and survival workshops. My readings turned out good by the way. I speared some fish and the geiger-counter didn’t show anything alarming.  
Whalebone introduced his friends to Clarence:  
“ These are my friends Anna and Mr. H.”  
“Nice to meet you guys.”  
“Same here.” Anna replied “We have an organic garden and we survive day by day…no need to go to Guatemala. It’s all right here dude. You do spearfishing?”  
She was also a spear fisher and always liked to share adventures.  
“Yes, I have been doing it for years. I have rock hard pecs from cocking that speargun. Can you do that?”  
Clarence thought of himself as an avid supporter of the feminist cause and yet he was a closet chauvinist. Anna rolled her eyes. She picked her battles wisely and this wasn’t worth it.  
Whalebone injected himself: “Rock hard pecs…rock hard pecs…you braggart…you look like a loser to me!” He pointed at Clarence’s bony chest.  
Clarence’s manicured mustache bristled upwards with contempt as he replied:  
“You're a real badass aren’t you…getting shit faced all day long…not doing a thing to make this world a better place, you bullshitter!’’  
“I am an anarchist…I’ve got my guns…fuck you and your rock hard pecker”  
 
Whalebone usually covered his chronic lack of self esteem by verbally attacking people, preferably under the belt line. Clarence, who had his own self esteem problems, countered with arrogant self righteousness. It was entertaining to listen to a self righteous lefty and a drunken redneck getting into a pissing match.  
Finally they settled the score and calmed down.  
Whalebone took the last can of beer out of his plastic bag and popped it open. The flask was passed around one last time and he started to show signs of severe inebriation.  
 
Mr H. was also getting quite drunk. He didn’t say much since he had an obnoxious hiccup that wouldn’t let go of him. The rhythm of the drums filled the humid air, mixed with the smudge of sage and good old Mexican skunk.  
Anna was the only one half way sober, since she didn’t like to lose control over situations.  
“Hey, let’s check out the other people…I want to sit with the drummers. Come on Whalebone…get your ass up…let’s change scenery. Mr. H refused to move. He still had the hiccups and was sitting slumped over. Movement brought about nausea, so they left him sitting. Whalebone also had a hard time moving. After falling over backwards twice and crawling on all fours, he finally managed to stand up and stagger over to the bonfire. He fell over right next to a wild looking guy with dread locks who was smoking a joint. Earth’s gravity had put him in the right spot. The wild man passed the joint to Whalebone and after a few hits he fell over onto the sand, straight down into a wormhole. This was as far as he would go that night.  
The others sat around the fire for a while, listening to the drums and staring into the flames.  
 
Anna started to wonder how to get Whalebone home. His equilibrium was shot and since she had a bad back and was unable to hoist him up and Mr H. was not exactly up to task, she was wondering if Clarence could come in handy.  
“Hey Clarence, you think you could give Jim a ride home? You’ll have to get him up and drag him over to your van…would be good exercise for your rock hard pecs. What do you think? Looks like you guys live close to each other anyway.”  
“What choice do I have? We can’t just leave him here on the beach.”  
Anna gave Clarence directions to Whalebone’s house and the group broke up, calling an end to the evening.  
It was that night that Whalebone Jim and Clarence became friends….dysfunctional friends, but hey…everybody needs somebody in this little drinking village with a fishing problem.