So I’m at the river, safe on our little piece of dry land with my E-Z up, beach chairs, bbq ice chest and nice bottle of mojitos and all of a sudden a boat and 4 jet skis invade. Really I was cool about it- I share pretty darn well. The boat beached and they got out some drinks, chairs and set up a horse shoe toss and all might have been peachy except for the one jerk off.

There’s always one in a group of jet skiers and this group was no exception. His friends were out in the water relaxing, talking, drinking, staying cool and he was spinning donuts until the fuse in his brain fizzled and he sped directly at the bunch of his friends and right before impact he jumped off. He did this repeatedly like a one trick pony accept it wasn’t really a trick.

Last Saturday I was at Mission Bay. The morning had been amazing— the water glass and I was catching air. As 9 o-clock comes, I’m getting out of the water. The truck has backed down the dock, the trailer is in place, I’m 10 feet off driving up slowly when a jet skier pulls right between me and the trailer. I shit you not. In the boat I’m yelling at him. He’s oblivious. He’s just looking at the truck and the trailer missing what’s in the water completely.

Perhaps if there was a license for jet skiing; if there was a big insurance policy you had to buy before you got to ride; if there was a blow test for alcohol and a Darwin test for common sense and survival— maybe then I’d be a little more understanding.