Mailing List Archive Mailing List Archive
Prologue
To many of you, my "Last Dive" series will be familiar. I don't exactly
know why I write these, except to say that they are usually triggered by
what I read on TechDiver from time to time. I guess every now and again, I
go a little bit insane, and have to get it out of my system.
I only write about friends, or good acquaintances, or people on the
periphery of my consciousness, and try to honestly apply equal malice
toward all concerned. Each of the people I include in these stories are
excellent divers, far more experienced than I, so this is my opportunity to
express my admiration and jealousy at the same time...
My primary characters are my two very close friends, John McKenney, and Rod
Farb. Both of whom have contributed to my dive education immensely. It is
somewhat due to this, that I honor them in this series, even though they
generally get eaten by Orca's, blown up, set on fire, etc...
Any individuals inclusion in this series is not a reflection of their
views, their diving practices, their professionalism, or their sex appeal
to my girlfriends. They simply serve as characters who happen to have the
names of real people, and who all, at one point have probably wanted me to
"sleep with the fishes..."
For those of you who are NOT familiar with these stories, you can find all
of them, in sequence, at >www.divenet.com< under "Diving with the Dude".
Tracy Robinette maintains that web site for his company, and has given me
an outlet for my humor. Most of these tales are derivative of previous
stories in the sequence, so you may have to read up on the last ones to
"get" some of the references in the new ones, especially where personal
injuries are concerned...
The only statements I can make for these stories is that they are the
creation of my own distorted mind, and nothing in here ever really
happened. Well, most of it anyway... I don't get paid to write this
stuff, I get paid to write documentaries where no humor is tolerated. I
also get to use a little profanity here, which I try to keep "in character"
so as not to be gratuitous...
Also, no animals, (besides the next-door neighbor's dog) were needlessly
tortured during the writing of this story...
Kevin
HeyyDude
My First Dive with Mr. Irvine
After returning from Hawaii I was relaxing on my estate, with a jar of
Beluga Caviar and some Lafite Rothchild '53 champagne, when the phone rang.
"Dude" the voice said.
"Yes, this is he" I replied. "This is George Irvine III, Dude, and I'm
here in Florida with your friends Farb, McKenney and Pyle."
Well, I was quite shocked to say the least, since I hadn't heard from my
friends since their playful romp with the Orca's. In fact, my last sight
of them was when they were screaming with joy as the killer whales tossed
them through the air.
"How are they, Mr. Irvine?" I asked, still surprised that this great cave
explorer would bother to call a lowly tech-diver like myself.
"They're fine. After spending a few months in Intensive Care, they came to
see me, and they wanna dive" he said.
"Well, they came to the right man, I'm sure, Mr. Irvine" I said with the
utmost of pride in my friends choosing to dive with the great Mr. Irvine.
"Call me Trey" he said with a smooth smile in his voice. Well, I was
simply flabbergasted at this. I was being allowed to call Mr. Irvine by
his tech-diver buddy name. "Yes sir, Mr. Trey!" I said.
"And they want you to come dive with us" he said. This was almost too much
for me to comprehend in one day. "Whata ya say, Chief?" he asked. There
was only one answer to this question when summoned by the likes of my new
friend, Trey. "Yes sir! Where should I meet you?"
"Scotland" was his answer. "We've got us a little dive scheduled for the
North Sea, and we want you there, reaaal baaad..."
I immediately hung up the phone, and had my chauffeur rush me to the
airport for a flight to Scotland. I decided to bring Sapphire, my newest
flame with me so she could meet my friends. Since I found her walking back
and forth in front of the Convention Center, wearing only some incredibly
high heels, and a tight pink spandex dress with holes cut all the way up
each side, she had been my constant companion for the last day and a half.
Her "date" hadn't shown up, she said. Tough luck for him, I say. It's not
every day that I get to meet a college co-ed like this...
Upon arrival in Scotland, I was once again reunited with my friends Farb &
McKenney. Farb was wearing some torn clothing, and seemed to walk with a
limp. When I inquired about this, he showed me his wooden leg. Seems like
the Orca's had a bit too much fun with him. My pal McKenney looked just
fine except that he was missing some fingers, and had a nasty scar running
the entire length of his face.
After introducing them to Sapphire, they took me to baggage claim.
Sapphire needed to use the restroom after our long trip, so both Farb and
McKenney volunteered to show her the way. The restrooms in the Scottish
airport must be far away, since it took them two hours to get back.
McKenney had some lipstick stains on his face, no doubt from trying to
cover the terrible scar. Sapphire looked particularly content, and I
couldn't help but notice that Farb had carved her initials in his wooden
leg. I was so happy that my friends had accepted Sapphire, that I forgot
to remind McKenney that he was two months late on his rent check...
Just then, Trey walked up to me. I almost fell down at the sight of him.
He was wearing a full beard, which looked fake, and had dyed his hair
purple and cut it into a Mohawk with spikes. He kept looking around
furtively, and I noticed that the baggage claim area was full of men in
suits and dark glasses. A couple of them wore jackets that said "EPA" on
the back.
"Is that YOU, Mr. Irvine??" I exclaimed. "Keep your fuckin' punk-ass voice
down, ass-munch!" he said with a low snarl in his voice, "And call me,
Trey..." Well, I immediately sized up the situation. Mr. Irvine has
become so popular that he must disguise himself as a punk rocker in order
to go freely about in public, and his cover was as precise as his diving
techniques. He had even adopted the abusive language exhibited by the
punk-rocking elite... I knew at once to go along with the ruse...
"O.K, Trey" I said. "I brought you some barbecued sushi" I said, as I
handed the Tupperware container over to him. He took one look at it, made
a disgusted face, and threw it into the nearest trashcan. I guess he
stopped eating at Lucy's since the EPA had to shut it down... "How's
WKPP?" I asked him. "Still under 5 feet of crude oil, you scumbag piece of
shit!" he snarled. He was REALLY good at this character acting. I
secretly wondered if Mr. Irvine was planning an acting career. He was
better than Burt Reynolds, as far as I was concerned.
The five of us then hustled out of the airport, past all the men from the
government.
We boarded a beat-up van, and paused briefly for Farb to climb in the back,
after retrieving his wooden leg, which somehow had fallen off, and rolled
into the gutter. The sight of him swearing and hopping on one leg made my
old friend McKenney laugh, which I though was rather cruel...
I then noticed that we had a driver whom I vaguely recognized. He was an
older man, with a rather wizzen appearance. When I looked over to Mr.
Irvine, he noticed the quizzical look on my face and said "Tom Mount, meet
the Dude"...
"Well", I thought, "imagine that. I am finally meeting one of the legends
of the diving world". Mr. Mount simply grunted his hello, so I decided to
break the ice somewhat. "I've read all your books, Mr. Mount" I said. "I
especially enjoyed your book on deep-air diving, and the chapter entitled
"Who Cares How Deep You Go?"."
To this, Mr. Mount turned and smiled. He was missing some teeth, and
looked positively like a pirate from some Douglas Fairbanks movie...
"Yup, yes sir-ee! Wrote me a pile 'o books! Heh, heh... Yup. Deep air,
yup... Gotta go deep. Yup... heh, heh... Deep, deep deep...Y'know, the
vacuum bag is mighty hot today, eh youngster?" he babbled on.
Not knowing what to make of this, I turned to Mr. Irvine...
"Mount here, is going to certify you on deep air, dude" Mr. Irvine said.
"Wow" I said, "I thought you didn't like deep air, Mr... I mean, Trey"...
"Yeah, well, that was until ol' Farb here convinced me otherwise, eh
Rod-o??" he said, while motioning to Farb in the back of the van.
"Fuckin' Hawaiian piece of shit! Son of a Bitch!! God damned
motherfucker!!!" Rod yelled from the back of the van, as he swung his
wooden leg through the air, smashing it on the floor of the van over and
over.
"Hey, FARB!" Mr. Irvine yelled. Rod stopped his senseless rampage, and
looked up at Mr. Irvine in a semi-daze, while McKenney continued to chuckle
from the front seat. "Cut that shit out!" Mr. Irvine continued, "I told
'ya, I'd buy 'ya a new fuckin' leg next week. Gavin'll make one for ya, so
cool it!" Rod seemed to settle down at this. McKenney continued to
chuckle, while Mr. Mount kept busy by driving and mumbling to himself.
"Where's Mr. Pyle?" I asked Mr. Irvine. "He's waiting for you down at the
dock" was his reply.
"Gonna rip your heart out, and EAT IT, you lousy motherfucker!!!" Farb
screamed from the back seat. "SHUT THE FUCK UP, FARB!!" Mr. Irvine yelled
at him. I guess Rod really was upset at the craftsmanship of his wooden
leg, but I decided not to inform him that wooden legs didn't have hearts to
rip out...
When we got to the dock, we were greeted by Mr. Pyle, who seemed to be
attached to a portable respirator. "Greetings, Mr. Pyle!" I said with an
outstretched hand. "Ready to do some diving?" I quipped.
"We're.....gonna.....fix....you....but....good...dude" Mr. Pyle said
in-between breaths from his respirator. Mr. Irvine shot Mr. Pyle a nasty
look, no doubt due to his concern that Mr. Pyle not stress himself trying
to speak.
I was going to ask Mr. Pyle why he was on a respirator, but was interrupted
by a crashing sound coming from the van. Seems like Rod's wooden leg got
stuck in the van step, and he came down hard with all the gear on top of
him.
"Motherfucker!! Shit, shit, SHIT!!" he screamed. My old friend McKenney
couldn't contain himself. He began to laugh hysterically at this, which
angered Rod even further. Rod picked up his wooden leg, and smashed
McKenney's kneecap with it. McKenney shrieked with pain and rage, and
grabbed Rod by the pony-tail.
They began to swing at each other, getting themselves tangled in mounds of
weight belts, until Rod connected with a strong right cross. My friend
McKenney recoiled from the blow, and still holding on to Rod's pony-tail,
fell backwards off the dock, dragging Rod with him. They both hit the
water at about the same time, and with the added weight of the belts, sank
like stones beneath the surface.
Mr. Irvine just stood there watching the spectacle impassively. "Shouldn't
we DO something, Trey?" I asked. "Naw... They're both tech-divers, dude.
They can breath hold for hours at a time." was his reply.
"Lets.....get.....this.....over.....with...." Mr. Pyle said from the other
side of the dock. Sapphire evidently felt sorry for Mr. Pyle's condition,
and was beginning to give him a massage to make him feel better. "Dude,
come over here" said Mr. Irvine.
The sight that awaited me on the other side of the dock looked quite
impressive. There was a single tank that stood about 6 feet high. coming
out of the top, was a single short hose, with a Voit second stage regulator
connected to it. Strapped to the back of the tank was a large rocket, with
fins, and an electrical cable extending to a box nearby. Mr. Mount was
busily pushing buttons on the box and cackling to himself. He was doing
some kind of little dance, and saying over and over "deep, deep, deep...
gotta go deep, heh, heh..."
"Dude, this is the latest in dive technology" Mr. Irvine said.
"What is the biggest problem with diving today?" he asked suddenly.
"I don't know, Trey, what is it?" I replied.
"Gettin' to the damned dive site, that's what" he stated firmly.
"This puppy will allow you to step up, pet the pony, and fry its ass at the
same time" he said with a chuckle. "And you're gonna be the first victim-
I mean Pilot" he said.
Well, I was completely astonished at this. The honor of being the first
tech diver to try out this new technology pioneered by the likes of Mr.
Irvine and Mr. Mount was almost too much to bear.
"You're gonna need these first, dude" Mr. Irvine said. He helped me into a
TransPac BC with quadruple bladders, all held down by huge bungee cords.
He then strapped on 4 square lights, 2 Genesis 120 tanks, 5 Bridge II
computers, 2 Cochran computers as backup, 3 sets of Force Fins, and 5 Dive
Alerts hooked up in sequence.
"Hook........that......fucker......up......and......lets.....do.....it...."
Mr. Pyle said, now laying on the dock in just his underwear as Sapphire
continued her massage therapy.
"All right, dude. The time has come..." Mr. Irvine said with a smile.
"Time to send you on your way, Chief" he added.
Well, I was a bit apprehensive to say the least, but with a man like Mr.
Irvine in charge of my equipment, I knew I was in good hands. I walked
over to the tank/rocket assembly, where Mr. Mount began strapping me in.
He had spit foaming at the corners of his mouth, as he mumbled "gonna go
deep today, gotta go deep... deep, deep, deep..."
"We had Bill Hamilton cut you some custom tables, dude." Mr. Irvine
informed me. "You'll go to 330 on air for 1 hour, then deco for 5 minutes
at 10 feet."
"Is that enough?" I asked. "That'll about do it, Chief. No deco weenies
in my group." Gosh! I was now included in Mr. Irvine's "group". Who was
I to argue with that??
I was trying to adjust myself in this rather cumbersome arrangement, when
Mr. Irvine smiled and said to me "See you in Hell, Chief" - obviously the
secret motto of the WKPP. I was truly now one of the "boys" - I almost
bust my anchor-chain restraints with pride at this honor...
He and Mr. Pyle then gave me the TechDiver "are you o.k" sign (a raised
middle finger). Mr. Pyle tossed me a Herring to take with me for good
luck.
It was then that something seemed to go wrong...
Mr. Irvine started to chuckle, and looked over at Mr. Mount, who was now
singing the theme from "Gilligan's Island." Mr. Mount was beginning to
press buttons on the console. "Gonna go deep, heh, heh... deep, deep for
the dooood!" he sang as he pushed a big red button.
Mr. Irvine's eyes seemed to bug out of his head as he screamed "NOOOOO!
MOUNT, YOU IDIOT, NOT NOW!!!"
Suddenly, I felt an explosion at my feet, and a rush of acceleration as the
rocket was ignited. Upon lift-off, it immediately began to rotate, and the
last sight I saw of the dock was of my friends...
Mr. Mount was standing next to the console, completely on fire, still
singing his song. Mr. Irvine was running away, with a long trail of flame
coming from his punk-rocker mohawk hair and jacket. Mr. Pyle was still
lying down in his underwear, but was now completely black and smoking, a
strange smile etched on his charred face. Sapphire seemed to be blown
clear of the dock, and landed in a merchant marine ship that was just
setting sail.
Meanwhile, I was ascending to an incredible altitude. I quickly grabbed
the Voit regulator, and put it in my mouth. The rocket seemed to have
changed directions, and I was now descending toward the water in
mid-channel.
I broke the surface at about 400 mph. and began to immediately descend. I
barely had a chance to look at my exploding Bridge II computers when I hit
the soft sediment at about 120 knots. The top of the tank burrowed deep
into the soil at 300 fsw. I must have hit about 350 fsw flying through all
the muck, when suddenly, I struck something that made me carom off of it in
an upward direction.
Just as fast as I went down, I was now going up. As I passed the 200 foot
mark, the bungee cords on my bondage wings broke, and the wings inflated to
their complete 5 foot span.
As I broke the surface of the water, the rocket seemed to run out of fuel,
and I crashed back to the surface, kept afloat by the quadruple wings that
were now full of air.
"What an exhilarating ride!" I thought. "I can't wait to tell Mr. Irvine
about THIS!" I said aloud.
Just then, a trawler owned by a fishing company that I had acquired with
some of the proceeds from my sale of McKenney's library steamed up. My
faithful employees pulled me from the water, and upon removal of my gear, I
noticed some odd looking shiny objects lodged between the rows of bondage
wings that were attached to my b.c.
Upon further analysis, it turns out that I had struck the long lost wreck
of the King Charles in the harbor, and some of the crown jewels had become
lodged in my rig. I immediately claimed salvage rights, and have since
recovered about $12 Billion in treasure.
I was also invited to dine with the Queen and her family. During dinner, I
recounted my story to Her Majesty, while Fergie and Di played footsie with
me under the table. One of the Queen's guards was quite interested that
Mr. Irvine was with me in Scotland, and excused himself, saying that he had
to contact the "Yard" about this. I guess he wanted to contact the Naval
Yard to let all the divers there know that one of the finest in the
business was visiting their great country.
As I retired for the evening, with Fergie and Di both sneaking into my
room, I reflected on the many wonderful diving experiences I have had with
my fine friends. I hope to see them all one day soon, so that we might
share another great dive adventure, brother tech-divers, one and all...
Kevin
HeyyDude
Navigate by Author:
[Previous]
[Next]
[Author Search Index]
Navigate by Subject:
[Previous]
[Next]
[Subject Search Index]
[Send Reply] [Send Message with New Topic]
[Search Selection] [Mailing List Home] [Home]