So that's where I left it...

So here I am, standing in my favorite burn suit. The burn suit, a slightly misleading moniker with only one real meaning: things are going to get messy. This suit is truly a marvel of engineering with a vented back (great for those hot days), stretchable sleeves for those times when you need just a little more give to catch an escaping child and even slip-resistant boots because, in this business, there are more slippery fluids than water. The gloves are a wonderful blend of synthetic suede (stain-proof I might add), the boots are lined with the finest of sheep's wool because really, when you're sacking the child of an Arab Sheik, it really pays off to be at your peak comfort level.

Now, you'd imagine this to be some really flashy suit, with it's back vents and synthetic suede, maybe an amalgamation of clashing bright and dark colors, but you'd be wrong. It's a gentle pairing of greens and grays, the kind that really lulls you into a nice sense of security. When wearing this suit, I'm never more calm and add the occasional splash of burgundy-red and you've put me in Blitzer heaven: a place filled with free hookers, and rich, spineless people who pay their ransom without question. What can I say, we're not a very creative kind.

Standing atop a sand dune, the dry air is blowing across my face, it burns a little and I can feel my lips beginning to chap. I grab the chapped part in my front teeth and tug until it comes free. Chewing on that bit of skin really brings me back to when I first started. Well, you never really "start" here, you're just given the option and trust me, this option is far more favorable than the other one you're presented with. Believe me, the first result from a wrong answer (see: no) is a little more drastic than a noogie or a an Indian Rope Burn. Imagine your testicles in a vice smothered in Bengay while simultaneously being pinched by incalculable amounts of pissed off crawfish and having your IQ slowly and painfully lowered to the point of mental retardation by a non-stop duet of Micheal Bolton and Barbra Striesand singing Christmas carols. I've seen the product -they become our janitors- and it's not pretty.

As the salt of my skin pervades my taste buds, I am sent into a euphoric state. It's a good thing I appear to be staring intently into my binoculars at our target, otherwise my compatriots would have seen the look of complete and utter distance in my gaze, like our janitorial crew. Instead, I stared intently out through the lenses starting at everything and nothing all at once.

The world swirls around me (or it could be a sand storm, I'm not quite sure), and I'm taken back to that moment. A boardwalk, long, seemingly miles long. It's just under 5,000,000 degrees outside and I'm trying to get into the unbearably tight pants of the snow cone girl. The trailer she was in was of the commonplace sort. White, pictures of perfectly crafted monochromatic snow cones on the outside. A hinged window in the front with a termite infested stick holding it up. You wouldn't want to stand under this thing longer than you had to. The paint was chipping off exposing the 10 previous paint jobs. In the corner of my eye, I saw a piece I just had to reach out and break off, oddly reminisce of my chapped lip. Fidgeting with her hair, she showed signs of obvious dismay that I hadn't yet ordered my frozen delight. "Soooooo, decided on a flavor yet?" She asked, that inquisitive little thing. I knew at once; I had to have her. "Yeah, I'll take one of every flavor, but I don't want to pay for the extras." She was bouncy, young, and all too eager to give me the extras for free

"I'm so In" I thought, attempting to sport my best 'cool guy' smirk. Not completely sold that she was really staying true to her word, I pulled out the big guns "So am I going to have to pay for this thing or do I have to take you on a date?" yeah, I was smooth. "That'll be 5$" she said so matter-of-fact that I simultaneously felt my heart shrivel up and my sperm count plummet. "$5 fucking dollars? The sign said $4!!! You're damn lucky you're attractive because otherwise I'd cuff you and take you to jail for extortion." I said in a stifled yell. Then, in an instant so fast I couldn't have began to blink she made my anger disappear and turn into nothing more than a distant and suppressed memory. "I'm sorry about that. Tell you what, if you have those handcuffs I'd love to extort that dollar right out of you" she said in a tone so buttery smooth I could have slathered it on my morning toast. "Jared, this is NASA, preparing your sperm count to blast through the stratosphere in 3...2...1..." Ignition.

She winked a shining blue eye which all but glinted with a *bling* when she did it. "This seriously can't be fucking happening. No fucking way. I flip out on her and now she wants my extorted sperm all over her? Fuck, did she just nod to the left or to the right. SHIT. I can't even see straight I hope I can fuck straight. Oh wait, it was definitely to the left. Alright Jared, move quickly but not too quickly, you don't want to seem desperate" my internal monologue mimicking a coach's' half-time speech to his ailing team. Taking a breath, I pivoted, and made every brazen attempt I could to not burst into a full bore, 10' sprint to the left side of the trailer. The painted on cones streaming past in a blur, appearing like a delicious rainbow. It was white, it was tiny, it was a sideways refrigerator on cinder blocks, but in about 30 seconds it was going to be hotter than the face of the damned sun. Under my breath, I blurted out another line of incomparable smoothness "Get your sunglasses on baby." I really should work on those. "What was that?" She asked in a coy I-know-what-you-said-but-I'll-pretend-I-didn't-hear-it voice.

I wish I could say that my last memory was taking this girl and blasting the innocence out of her and this place, tainting the thoughts of everyone seeking refreshment. "Yes, can I get a snow cone? Flavor? Oh I would love hot, steamy, passionate sex. That's the only one you have?! I guess I'm in luck." Yeah, that sounds about right. No, the last thought through my mind was the sound of an 8 flavor, $5 snow cone hitting the pavement. *Splot*. You can hear the ice crunching and melting at the same time. Refreshing dreams splaying out onto Satan's own griddle. A faint scent of lime, amaretto, blueberry, cherry, ocean spray, lemon, watermelon and apple hit me. It hit me hard, like the butt of an AK47 assault rifle to the back of my head. For a moment, everything turned red, like I'd been looking through one side of a pair of 3-D glasses. All the blood rushed to the front of my head and I swore my eyes would have just flown right out of their sockets. I was damn sure that the gun had just lodged itself in my head and that guy would've been looking, dumbfounded, wondering "How in the fuck did that happen?" and spending the next ten minutes standing on the back of my head trying to pry the butt of his assault rifle from my sex-driven brain. I knew it was too good to be true and now I've been had. Sadly though, only one thought blared in my brain in what would have been an ear splitting, glass shattering, teeth grinding noise had it been aloud. Just one thing, found it's way in, and I was certain it was the first thing I was going to say when I came to.

"Dammit, I knew she was a tease."