Welcome to day three. This was the first year I had ever been to Jambo with a hot shower – usually I had to hose down in my trunks with a bar of soap and a fresh supply of freezing non-drinkable water. That was good. Bad? Taking a shit. By this time, even with no water in my body, two days of gyros have caught up to me with a terrible wrath. There is little (voluntarily) worse things than having to crap in a Port a John, especially one full of previous defecations that are not yours. At a nice, cool, comfortable 101 degrees. It’s much like being in “the box” in Cool Hand Luke. The TP is so thin, you can read War and Peace through it and your stool is so unstable, it might as well be a vial of nuclear waste. Also, there is little more repugnant than the ol’ Honey Dipper pulling in and stirring up this witches’ brew of cheese fries and cheap alcohol. That is how day three began.
The heat was so unbearable, I felt like a vampire in the sun. The “pool” was full, so I huddled under a six foot canopy, sizzling in the shade and thanking God I wasn’t born before A/C. Space was limited, but at least I got to enjoy a drunk guy telling me political thoughts and his upcoming vacation plans…for an hour. For once, the steaming concert was a relief.
More people watching… I made it to end of the show this time. Toby Keith got old pretty quickly. I passed out, but my buddy went to get something out of his car and found two white trash specimens having cowgirl sex in the grass next to his Monte Carlo. He interrupted them, they did not stop. It may have well been these two. Stay tuned for day four and the horrible cramping of the calf muscles!