So, most of you all have never lived in the town where I live. One of you lives real close, ( i i i), all of you have visited for a day or two — scoping the beach, riding to the airport (if you can call it that), not enjoying the nightlife, craning your head to one side in order to hear the piercing shriek of US Navy killing machines sonic booming all over the place at all hours of the night…
Well, my friends, you have only seen what they want you to see! Sure, those luxurious sights and occurences I mentioned above are there for anyone to see… (Yeah, baby, it’s paradise.) But if your trip to my community ends here, you haven’t yet lived!
To truly know my town, to see it as can only the locals, there is but one place you must go. (Hear its name ring forth unto the heavens). This place is called… wait for it… (Dunn — duh-duh — Duuunnn)… The Mount Trashmore.
The history of this mysterious mound is shrouded in the darkest cloud of mystery you could never even begin to not be able to imagine about. From the legends past down from the elders, I shall relate what I have heard of this history, below.
Some say that The Mount Trashmore is the eastern-most burial ground from the ancient civilization of Cahokia. These people, (though they generally not to be trusted), hold that the forefathers desecrated the burial ground, and then some craxy poltergeist shit started popping off, and everybody was all like “AAHHHGGGRR.” And then the white devil British governor named the place The Mount Trashmore in order to convince the malnourished colonists not to venture too close and, thus, anger the great spirit. “You know, it’s called The Mount Trashmore cuz it’s made of old trash,” he’d say. “The trash will get you all filthy and then your mom’s gonna make your dad hit you again,” he’d say. But no one listened. They ventured too near and, one by one, the colonists were picked off. The Mount would take 10 a day, and then only 8, and fewer until his nasty old blood-lust was satisfied. Over the years, people forgot about the terrible anger looming just below the surface of The Mount Trashmore, but the people who remember this old story don’t forget. And while these storytellers sometimes drink, and I think one is like retarded or something, I still believe them sometimes…
Other people think The Mount Trashmore is an ancient alien egg. Oh yeah, an old dried up egg from a race of giant green aliens and that it smells so bad in the summer time because it’s the egg rotting from the inside. I heard tell that when the old nasty egg cracks open eventually, the smell alone would be enough to kill you all the way into next Wednesday. Except it won’t have to. The old egg will pack the punch of a 12,000 ton atomic warhead and will wipe out the humanity so bad that Horishima will seem like a sissy-ass picnic/sewing tournament. Lots of people go out there on the hot days and wait and watch. They figure, “When this shit splits open, the news will have to come around, and then my ass will be on the news. I’ll be all like ‘yeah, boy, who’s on the news now?!’ That’s right.”
Like I said, lots of people have said lots of stuff about The mysterious Mount Trashmore. One time, I even started coming up with my own theory. I was sitting there cat fishing, and I decided to take a swim in the little lake adjacent to The mystical Mount, so I rolled up the jeans and waded in. I swam around for a while, and then headed back to my pal’s house who lived not too far away. His mom gave me a ride back to my house, and my mom wouldn’t let me in the house. She said, “You smell like shit. Hose yourself off.” So I did that. After that, I started thinking, “What if that mountain really is made out of trash, just old, buried trash? I mean, why else could it be so nasty and make me smell like shit so bad.” I thought about this for a while, and I believed it whole-heartedly until the winter of my 13th year.
That winter it snowed. People lined up in front of everything that had even a 1 degree slope to it, and rode down their snow hills on everything they could find — trashcan lids, refrigerator doors, cardboard boxes and, my personal selection, boogie boards. Needless to say, people flocked to The Mount Trashmore carrying their personal snow-craft, but you had to be pretty sneaky about it. Liability issues forced the city to post a large police presence at the foot of the snow-covered alpine wonderland, so the only way to get up to the top was to form a tight pack with all your little ass, impromptu friends and run your ass up there and hope you weren’t one of the ones who got grabbed. So I did that and me and my boogie board made it up to the top. Once there, there was nothing to do but ride back down. Now, it’s important to note that, even at my best, I am no great athlete. Combine this fact with the notion that snow was entirely foreign to me, not to mention riding downhill on the stuff. So, it goes without saying that as I rode downhill, I face-planted and sort of like half passed out for a second maybe. During that time, I had a vision, not unlike one of those trippy-ass hallucinations all those Indians had with all the peyote and shit, and I came to truly understand the nature of The Mount Trashmore.
It had all started deep below the bottom of the ocean. While life swirled above, a firey furnace seethed below. The ocean floor started to bubble, and a giant underwater volcano started exploding just like in that one movie. You know that one with the lava and death and stuff. So the lava kept pooring out, and it made these islands like the Galapagos Islands, only sweeter. And these islands expanded and stuff and became North America. For millenia, the dormant volcano lay silent, until one day, the pressure again started to build and the volcano pressed up one giant bubble — The Mount Trashmore!! Now, the volcano will blow again very soon and wipe us all out. That nasty smell that seeps around the hillside is the noxious volcano gas easing the pressure like so many silent but deadly farts.
Anyway, that’s the vision I had while passed out, and I’m pretty sure it’s true. When you wake up dead one morning, you’ll know I was right all along, but it will be much too late by then. I broke my finger from rolling down the mountain.
This has been the saga of The Mount Trashmore. When you think summer vacation, think Mount Trashmore — the highest peak in Hampton Roads!!