Sven Lyndon: Personal Watercraft Enthusiast

I'd like to take some time to let the world know how I feel about personal watercraft. Specifically: Jet Skis. I love them.

A jet ski has all the great features of a boat without the frills. Things like: life jacket storage, cup holders, and extra seating (as I am terribly alone in this world). It is rudderless so you can only steer when you are hittin the throttle, definitely not for the indecisive. It is dangerous, as falling from it can put any of your orifices at the mercy of a 140 hp jet engine, not for the meek. These loud, proud puppies used to sit comfortably at the top of the gas guzzler food chain and put every Hummer owner to shame. Since the late nineties, however, they have been de-clawed by a bunch of congress know-it-alls (and possibly the catholic church).

Jet ski infatuation struck at an early age. Though video games where strictly forbidden throughout my childhood, I had found a scrap of a Wave Race 64 box in a dumpster. On it four fun loving humans all riding Jet Skis in midair. I cherished this box and every evening after my goodnight flogging, I would hold it close thinking of the joys PWC ownership held. I took the scrap everywhere and guarded it with my life. When my parents found it, they took it from me, burned it as a heretic, and increased my daily allowance of floggings. I knew from that day forward I was destined to own a jet ski.

Of all the obstacles I've overcome on my path to Jet Ski ownership (floggings, heresy accusations, scrap theft and destruction) the one that almost derailed me is my absolute fear of open water. At first I attempted to beat it with classic behavior modification. Specifically: Flooding. Flooding is when you expose someone to an abundance of whatever stimulus elicits a fear response. There are two possible outcomes. The first: overexposure to a stimuli that elicits a fear response negates the fear response. The second: overexposure to stimuli that elicits a fear response is too much and leaves the subject in shambles. Think of the guy whose love-of-his-life-prom-date slept with his best friend at the after party, multiply that by 20. That's almost where a failed attempt at flooding is. A few examples of flooding:

Problem: Sally is afraid of spiders
Solution: Chastise her weakness, then throw her in a pit of spiders

Problem: Bill is afraid of dogs
Solution: Mock Bill, and then throw him in a pit of dogs

Problem: Kevin is afraid of darkness
Solution: Ask him if he wets the bed too, then throw him in a pit of darkness.

Having lightly researched the risky procedure, I booked a Carnival Cruise for the next available departure. With no luggage to check in I was first on the boat and had nothing to do. To kill time, I went to the diner where I had a slice of apple pie with American cheese melted on top. I think it was a good choice. Next, I calmly waited until the ship was about 30 nautical miles offshore and made my move. Leaping from the back of the boat I landed in the icy waters of the Atlantic Ocean. Two things happened the second I hit the water. The fear crippled me, and the shock of the 40 degree water crippled me again for good measure. It was the kind of teamwork you seldom see out of mankind, but constantly see out of deadly forces of nature. I respect that.

During the helicopter ride back to the mainland, a paramedic told me that I had cheated death. Each night I wake from reliving those long moments I spent in the water, being consumed by the confluent effects of absolute terror and rapid hypothermia, I feel that death had cheated me.

Undeterred, I used the settlement money from Carnival Cruise to purchase my jet ski. The attempt at flooding, had backfired: re-enforcing my fear of open water, and creating a small aversion open spaces. I had to go back to the streets and use the only tool I had left: Lyndon Innovation. Before I continue my tale, I would like to review some great instances of Lyndon Innovation (excluding the Lyndon Line as it has been covered in a previous post):

October 3 2007: After somehow getting a girl to return to my dormitory, necking ensued. I was fit to give her the time but she insisted we use a prophylactic. Leaving the scene, every condom box was empty, but on the floor, a lone wet nap. Returning to my room, the wet nap's 1.25 square inch (identical in size and texture to that of your basic Trojan brand prophylactic) wrapper and an abundance of darkness combined to create the illusion of protected sex. This was actually two birds with one stone, the first: betray the trust of a woman( a "bird" I simply cannot pass up). The second bird: start my army.

June 24 2009: Hoping to be the first internet personality to obtain a bootleg of "Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen", but having been put on a "watch list" by the movie industry (I leaked Xmen: Origins Wolverine), I needed to find a loophole in their "No Camera" rule. Their friskings where quite thorough. I found the requisite loophole in the Sharp J-SH04, the worlds first camera phone. Launched in 2000, and subsequently forgotten, these puppies hold a whopping 42 seconds of video. With the movies run time sitting at a hearty 150 minutes, I needed to procure 215 phones. A daunting task until you remember that every technophile who bought one of these, threw it out for the next fad phone, which he threw out for the Razer, which he threw out for the I-Phone, which he in turn threw out for every slightly better I-Phone. A trip to the local dump confirmed my assertion, it took a mere 57 hours to find 215 working Sharp JH04 camera phones. I won't go into how I charged 215 phones over the course of 12 hours, but lets just say my neighbors may notice a very, very small spike in their power bills. With the charging completed, I headed to the local cinema, sack of camera phones in tow. Each 42 seconds, a new phone took over. Later that night, piecing the movie together was particularly painstaking because I had neglected to organize the camera phones after recording on them. The results however are nothing short of professional, if Michael Bay were to call me asking how I'd done it, I wouldn't even be surprised. I would coolly tell him how I did it, probably sipping some kind of booze. Sly as hell.

Back to present reality, I am a jet ski enthusiast whose attempt at curing his fear of open water by jumping off a boat failed miserably. I need a jet ski in my life, but can't bring myself within a mile of a large body of water. Thinking fast, I used the rest of the settlement money on a above ground pool, and a length of very strong rope. Let's just say I didn't hang myself above an above ground pool. Although that would be a magnificent way to go, what with the pool standing in for a shallow grave, which would leave a bloated corpse for the neighbors children to find and then talk to a therapist about for the next twenty years. No, no, no. I tether the jet ski to my garage with the rope, and drive it in the pool. The fun is endless.

I start each day at 4:45 am with my morning ride, its so refreshing. By about 6:00 am, the ride ends because the jet ski has emptied my pool onto my neighbors lawn. Each night at 7:00 pm, the pool has just finished refilling (courtesy of the fire hydrant outside of my house), and it is time for my evening ride. This, listeners, is my own little slice of paradise.

-S.L.