The Continuing Adventures of Payola Jones: The Sponson Committee (PG-13) (Parental Guidance suggested, if not outright required. The characters in this story are entirely fictitious, except Payola: he's real, but in no way represent any of the parties, or atomic reactor rhetoric concerning the Sponson debate. In fact, it's just a parody, relax, have fun, feel free to use your imagination. Nor is it meant to impune our fine officials in the various Government agencies who love us like children and only want the best for us. Now, here it goesâ^À¦ Gray painted cinder block walls with 12 inch square windows along the ceiling edge occasionally allowed a breeze waft through from downtown Washington DC. Metal doors clanked open and inward filed a column of stodgy, middle aged, midlevel, bureaucrats of the Department of Estuarine Regulatory Traffic Authority, Regulation Advisement Team Service (RATS). "The RATS will come to order," growled a silvery veteran of the bureaucracy, Sylvester Fox "As the media has captured the publics attention with the rash of paddlecraft related accidents and named it 'Summer of the Kayak' including news bureau photo icons of a kayaker with a shark mouth painted on the front of the kayak, we need to respond." "Ya, replied fellow RAT team member Jim Wright, that was a cool boat, spitfire decal on the bow, that's the front of the boat sir, the bow, I think it was a Nordkapp, made in England." "Whatever, grumbled Sly, They've been irked at us ever since the Boston Tea Party and since then have been trying to flood the country with cheap imports." "The issue at hand, continued Sly, is the proposal made by a Washington hired gun defense contractor firm. The IT gal there is trying to make a big break with the boss and she has the answer to all safety related issues regarding paddle craft: Sponsons. Miss Polly Pennymuny will present her findings to this panel. She will have an hour to report her findings. An opposing viewpoint, of about 5 minutes, will conclude the presentations before we implement the new safety systems and associated user fees." A warm breeze from the small windows flowed into the room and swayed the single bulb suspended above the table. Miss Pennymuny, tall and poised eased, into the stuffy room and drew a model kayak from a duffel bag. Before she spoke up she inserted a small figurine into the cockpit and a tiny wooden paddle into its hands. "Gentlemen, my name is Polly Pennymuny. Since I was a child I've been fascinated by boats, though I've never been in a kayak, I did paddle my dad's skiff back to shore when the motor died. It was a life changing experience." "Perfect, an unbiased viewpoint", yelled Sly. "When these commie, extreme sport fanatics get a paddle in their hands they think they're invincible." Jim rolled his eyes and saw a long hour ahead of him. "Uh, Miss Pennymuny, that's a canoe paddle in the models hands," Jim pointed out. "Ohâ^À¦ it is, uh, Mr. Wright, butâ^À¦they're all the same, ya know, ya get in a boat and ya paddle around with it. One paddle's as good as another." "Yes, interrupted Sly, one paddle blade you start diving over waterfalls; add another blade and you're playing chicken in the shipping lanes!" "To better emphasize the concept of safety, I will demonstrate the concept of sponsons with these." At that, she withdrew a pair of condoms and rubber bands from her duffel bag and continued. She didn't notice the stillness in the room as she began inflating theâ^À¦safety device replicas, and pulled the kayaker figurine from the cockpit. "Help, I've fallen but I don't need help, she mimed, 'cause I got me a pair of Sea Condoms!" "Sploosh! Now the kayaker is swimming and he or she grabs the sponsons and inflates them." She narrated. She then knotted the ends of each and banded them, one on each side of the kayak. She looked up to several sweaty, rumpled foreheads, eyebrows raised and each doing their best to not stare back, instead looking on at the hapless model kayak. The kayaker model appeared glossy from the lubricant, now pooling on the Formica table and coating the figurines' sides. Miss Pennymuny grasped the figurine, but its new coating mollified her attempts to conclude the demonstration with finesse, instead it shot from her hand as a cherry pit would from pinched fingers. The figurine glanced off of Jim's head and settled onto another member's laptop, his face ashen. "Well, she concluded, ya get the point. A pair of sponsons enables the paddler to take advantage of a bigger platform to counter the effects of rough seas, enabling the paddler to slide into the kayak with relative easeâ^À¦ if you'll forgive the pun," she replaced the greasy figurine into the cockpit and drew a smiley face onto the head with a felt pen, but the ink and lube merged and flowed down its face like a frown. "Bravo! Dear, well done!" shouted Sly. Jim returned his head to his folded arms and didn't know where to begin with his comments. Instead, Sly continued: "If the facts are that a wider kayak is more stable, then lets mandate wider kayaks and sponsons!" "As most kayaks are quite wide, most of the paddling community would be ok with that sir," replied Miss Pennymuny. "The truly fanatical in the sport, the extreme crowd, may not like it, but they are a small element, best represented by an Internet group called paddlerwiseacre.com. Seems a militant few in the group said you can put a sponson on my kayak when you pull my paddle from my cold, dead fingers!" "Truly a fanatical cult that needs reeducation, glowered Sly. The committee will note their reputed demeanor when their representative delivers his presentation. His name is Jones: Payola Jones." A smile eased across Jim's face. Payola walked into the room looking rather gamey, in his fleece vest and faded polypro long top and bottoms. A pair of nylon shorts covered his long underwear, to which Sly inquired: "Did you forget the correct order of your apparel, sir?" "I'm sorry sir, I just paddled in across the river and took off my dry suit. I thought a real paddler would best demonstrate how they get out of trouble. May I, Ma'am?" Payola gestured towards the kayak model. With her approval, he wincingly grasped the kayak model as he would any HAZMAT case. "Yikes, this guy's been having fun." He rolled the kayak over and sliced the tiny arms outward with the paddle and feigned a righting of the boat. "Ta Da! Even rolls with a canoe paddle." He beamed up at the crowd with a respectful bow, winking at Polly. "Sea Condoms might work: on a good day, but a good paddler will need to develop skills to paddle in rough conditions. So, they learn to roll or use a paddlefloat on the end of a kayak paddle. It acts as an outrigger, stabilizing the craft from an attempt at reentry. In fact if you're so hard up for these things, as the previous demo suggests, you can use a float on each end of a paddle. Or, just a single one and reenter and roll. Or, a buddy can come along and hold your boat while you enter. Or,"â^À¦ "Your time is up, Jones! Our committee will convene and make its recommendations to the Department Secretary, Finished Sly. "I thought you guys were going to give me 5 minutes." "Thank you Jones! At that he was escorted by Sly to the door and whisked out to the hall. Payola lowered his head and walked down the long, gray hall feeling used by the Committee. "Bureaucrats, he muttered, I spell a rat in their somewhere!" While out on the street sampling the wares from a taco stand parked in front of a café that he wished he could afford to eat at, he looked in at the patrons. At a table near the back were Miss Pennymuny, Fox, Wright and the horribly unpopular kayaker Narcissus Falwell, the proponent of the Sea Condom. In between rounds of chardonnay, brie and salad he could see the merriment of Fox and Pennymuny. Falwell looked preachy and self-righteous, pounding photographs, striking them with the urgency of an early '60's Castro speech. Payola moved to the door and heard the words 'murder' and the phrase 'macho cabal of murderous instructors.' Falwell leaned over and shook the dozing Wright to attention as his head fell back to his arms. "I heard you Narcissus, Wright replied. I just don't see the parallel between safe sex and safe sea kayaking. I'm not an expert, but if it's rough I'd rather be in my boat, rolling back up then out of it and trying to orally inflate a device with far more suitable applications. We do it on the river all the time: Capsize, roll, run for safety. Listen, novices at sea, armed with prophylactics are a disaster waiting to happen." "They're Sponsons! 'Get it, man: Sponsons for a boat. They are a safety device meant to free people from the murderous paddlefloat, Eskimo rolling-instructor cartel that preside over the thousands of bodies washed up on our shores yearly from their murderous, not to mention expensive, ideology." Narcissus turned to Fox, "Dad: say something to this guy!" "D-D-Duh-Dad?, Wright stuttered as he turned to Fox. Dad?" Pennymuny's head took her turn flopping into her arms. "Oooooh no," she moaned. "Ahhheeem, Fox coughed into his hand and jerked his head suggestively at Falwell. He slipped his index finger across his neck as quickly and surreptitiously as possible, but that dog bayed loud enough to be heard all over the neighborhood. "Hey guys, how's the family reunion? Payola laughed, nibbling his veggie taco. He winked at Fox, "I thought you two looked a lot like each otherâ^À¦Can I have a shot of that Tabasco?" "He's my mistress's son from my second, or third marriage! Fox defended himself. I just wanted him to get a fair shot, as his Crack addled mother wouldn't give him one. Access to the bureaucracy is for the people, not just the powerful. Pennymuny's firm is utterly unbiased and we look to their expertise in making recommendations." "Jones, can I have a word with you? Inquired Fox. As the two stepped out along the sidewalk, Fox turned to Payola. Some of your group is concerned with a Sea Condom mandate. I don't believe that will happen." "Or a recommendation Mr. Fox?" inquired Payola. "Uh, no. Fox Opined. I am, however, concerned about some friends of Narcissus that are bumping up against the due date of their float planâ^À¦if you know what I mean?" "I do, sir. I will see to it that we look out for them and help them back s afely." Payola sped across the river, the spitfire painted bow reflecting splendidly in the water against a dying afternoon sun. When he returned to his launch place he paddled a backwater to get to the paddlerwiseacre.com group, commando camped in the backwaters. "Why'd you paint my boat with a shark mouth," said the towering figure of Don. "Sorry, we needed to send a coherent message to the press that sharks are cool â^À¦and so are kayaksâ^À¦and the hysteria is notâ^À¦dude? Are you with me? It's hard to look cool when you're standing there, scowling with your arms crossed." Replied the exasperated Payola. "How'd it go?" Interrupted one of the other paddlerwiseacre's. "Not bad: I found out that Narcissus is related to the RAT Team Chair, but since we know that, they won't mandate Sea Condoms. Where are the seacondomites?" "In the woods." Payola found two seacondomites lying on their stomachs in the dirt with each wrist and ankle handcuffed to a pair of diagonally crossed paddles, duct taped in the center for maximum hypotenuse. Someone was stirring up the red ant colony a few feet away and dripping a honey trail to the "guests." The guests were obviously suffering from the effects of a steady diet of dehydrated food and were groaning for water. Payola unlocked them and tossed a canteen to each. "You were never here, right?" he asked them. As they came to their senses they affirmed not and were allowed to gather their belongings to paddle back to the city. "Your penance for starting this whole mess is to paddle back to the city in these 9 foot sit on tops with aluminum paddles. Don't do it again! Also, Payola continued, we are requisitioning your cedar strip, West Greenland style boats and donating them to the YMCA. We want to make sure kids in this country get a chance to appreciate performance craft and what it takes to operate them. Now get out of here." Payola and the gang watched their turncoat brethren paddle a snaking path across the wide river, the sun's last rays reflecting across the aluminum paddle shafts. They loaded their boats, cleansed the campsite of all trace of their presence and fled to parts unknown. "You can have your boat back Don," Payola said. *************************************************************************** PaddleWise Paddling Mailing List - Any opinions or suggestions expressed here are solely those of the writer(s). You must assume the entire responsibility for reliance upon them. All postings copyright the author. 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