Un2talented (Book 3 of the Un2 Series)

Gary sat in the open doors at the back of the van.

He ran his hands through the multi-level shag carpet as he admired the blonde wearing the red one-piece swimsuit on the iconic poster pinned to the door. Leslie was crouched in front of him, pumping rapidly with his right arm. The soreness began to set in. He switched over to using his left.

“I’m not used to doing it with my left hand. Can you do it for a while?” Leslie said, looking up at Gary.

“Hey, I wanted to get a battery-powered one, but you objected. Finish up on your own.”

“Ughh!” Leslie moaned as he resumed pumping. “I thought this boat would be easier to inflate. Could you at least assemble the oars?”

“No problem.”

Gary scooted onto the bumper and pulled the opened carton to him. He removed a bundle of hollow aluminum tube segments and then a bag of molded plastic blades that resembled webbed dragon claws. He began by interlocking the lengths of aluminum together to form the shafts and capped them off with the claws. He pawed at Leslie with the oars, narrating the scene as if they were under attack by a giant reptile.

“The monster has breached the blockade! Run for your lives!”

“Gary, stop!” Leslie swatted at the pestering oars with his enormous hand. “I knew I would regret buying the ‘Swamp Creature’ boat.”

“Yeah, ’cause we would’ve looked really adorable paddling across the lake in the ‘Pretty, Pretty Princess Pontoon’,” Gary laughed.

“Done,” Leslie said as he wiped his brow with his forearm.

“What about that?” Gary pointed at the uninflated head.

“Really?” Leslie responded in disbelief.

“But, it’s not the Swamp Creature without the head!” Gary rebutted.

Leslie moaned. A hundred or so pumps later the boat sported a lizard-like figurehead. Gary took one of the oars and tapped the beast on each shoulder, or at least where shoulders would be if it had them.

“I dub thee ‘Nessie, Lizard of the lake’.”

“Did you just knight our inflatable boat?”

“I christened her,” Gary countered.

“I’m pretty sure you knighted her. You said, ‘dub’ and tapped her with the oar. Christening would have involved breaking a bottle of champagne over her.”

Gary repeated the knighting motion with the oar.

“I dub thee Sir Nessie, Lizard of the Lake, Transporter of Misfits.”

Leslie grimaced.

“What?” Gary shrugged. “We don’t have any champagne and she should have a name.”

“Apparently, we’re misfits?” Leslie questioned.

“What would you call us?”

“Heroes, adventurers, rescuers. . .”

“. . . That were tricked into being trapped in a freezer by a roadie for a C-list rock star,” Gary finished.

“I’ll accept ‘misfit’,” Leslie laughed. “Shall we shove off?”

“Yes sir, Captain, sir,” Gary saluted. “You want to sit at the bow or the stern?”

“What?”

“Do you want frontsies or backsies?”

“Frontsies.”

“As you wish, Captain.” Gary snickered.

Leslie tried to wedge his oversized frame into the boat. He ended up having to straddle the now phallic inflated dragon head, his feet cantilevered inches above the water in front of them. Gary tucked in easily behind him.

“Comfy?” Gary asked.

“Oh, just shut up and row.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

“Sir Nessie” glided somewhat silently into the night on her maiden voyage.