“Here he Comes, here comes Speed Racer, he’s a demon on wheels. He’s a demon and he’s gonna be chasing after someone…”
For you clueless youngsters, Speed Racer was a low-rent cartoon that played before anyone was up on Saturday and Sunday mornings. The show had a catchy theme and a naughty monkey, but the star of the show, Speed Racer with his “powerful Mach 5,” provided the true thrills. Sleek and spry, Speed with his multitasking supercar, saved the day, every day.
I got to spend an entire week with Speed Racer, only instead of an energetic teenager with a red scarf, it was my Old Man, instead of saving the day in his Mach 5, Dad was losing the day with his electric-powered shenanigans. The twisted tales involving his Red Scooter of Death’s exploits all over Disney World are so vast, he deserves his own Mini-Series. This is the first of several posts starring Bushwacker Bill, the rottenest scurvy cur to sail Disney’s Ocean of tears.
As usual, enjoy the following hahas at my expense.
Love ya like a coldsore,
The Dastardly Deeds of Bushwacker Bill: Part One, Demon on Wheels
Wearing a burnt orange University of Texas tee with mirrored aviators and short socks to complement his brand-new low-top Chuck Taylors, Dad displayed some very positive sartorial changes. His shorts, while forever Khaki, were now a tasteful length that covers both his hamhocks and the meat & cheese tray. Clearly, this time around, Vacation Dad had styling help from an unknown fashion Angel. Always there to welcome his embrace of the current century, I complimented him on his newfangled cool dude gramps look.
Upon arrival at the Hotel, Dad’s chariot was awaiting him. I watched father walk to the concierge desk to retrieve his rented scooter, (EPV if you’re trying to church it up.) I had no idea we were witnessing the genesis of a Domestic Terrorist the likes of which Central Florida had never seen. This, when you consider all the Meth Labs, escaped pet boa constrictors, and busted strippers that reside in Central Florida, is really saying something.
Back in olden times during the Civil War, a bushwacker was the lowest form of combatant. With his lack of honor, the Confederate soldier would sneak up on his opponent, and ambush using guerilla tactics. The bushwacker’s success depended upon being virtually undetectable. When I saw the Old Man breeze up on his little red scooter, with adorable bike bell, I was pleasantly surprised how convenient and sleek the EPV was. In hindsight, my blood curdles with the knowledge of all the crimes that I committed being an unwitting member of Bushwacker Bill’s gang of goons.
No less than 2 minutes into our inaugural walk to our posh accommodations, the wheels figuratively started to fall off when Dad had his first tango with an elevator. After several “whoops, MOVE, and damnits,” we were safely(?) in the elevator.
“The stupid back up beeper thing isn’t working, neither is the horn. What a piece of junk! I do like that I have control over the speed. The yahoos who rent in the theme parks are stuck on slow. HA! I’ll smoke ‘em! “
“I’m glad you’re happy with it Dad, though it kinda seems like we should have the backup alert.”
“Psh, I’ll be fine. Dumbasses can get out of the way, or get run over.”
I looked at my tanned, freshly-manicured, toenails in the florescent light and imagined the atrocities that could befall them with dad’s new weapon of mass destruction.
“I’m putting on sneakers as soon as I get to the room, too bad I didn’t bring some steel-toed boots.”
We then went to Chef Mickey’s and were mistreated to the most expensive TERRIBLE meal that I’ve ever had the displeasure of being slogged through, (and I’ve BEEN ON A CRUISE,FOR CRISSAKES!) After Chef Mickey’s AKA Chef Fistey’s (more on that later,) we made our way to the Magic Kingdom.
The plan, because remember, the ENTIRE TIME YOU ARE PUMPJACKING THE DOLLARS OUT AT THIS TOURIST TRAP, YOU MUST HAVE A PLAN, the plan was to have a quick trip to the park, let dad practice navigating, and ride a coupla rides (first up the Magic Kingdom’s train station.) Blithely, the old man plowed through the crowds, and after 10 minutes of searching for the handicapped accessible ramp to the WDW Railroad ride, we made it to the train platform. Once parked, he slowly made his way to the cars and got on the ride with no problems, we were on our way. Sure, he was going to have a bit of an adjustment period, as his concept of front vs back while driving the scooter was dubious. But rather than dwell on all the things that could have happened, I decided to CHOOSE JOY! Yes, this was going to be a GREAT TRIP thanks to the scooter giving dad the needed mobility to enjoy and conquer the Disney World.
Because the universe just loves a delightful comedic plot twist, while we rode the 20 minute grand circle railroad tour of the Magic Kingdom, the weather went from hot at sunset, to pitch-black with lightning.
“Let’s take cover in the Hat Shop!” Bushwacker Bill bellowed, loyal troops, we followed our Anti-hero. It wasn’t until we got into the teensy retail space, cramed wall to wall with humanity, that I realized either we’d fight alongside him, or become collateral damage. I chose the offensive. If I could be there to clear the paths for him and remove the expensive, breakable, hurdles, perhaps we’d make it out alive. Right on cue, the Heavens opened and let loose a deluge that caused the streets to be covered in an inch of moving water, instantly. We made it indoors just in time.
Lover Fo’ Life touched my arm and quietly murmured, “Muffin, your Dad. How on earth is he going to make it out of this shop without destroying everything and everyone?”
“Relax, it’s Disney, sh*t gets broken all the time, it’s rolled into the price. Besides, I’m already running interference.”
“Ok, but if he runs over some random aggro-dad, I can’t guarantee it won’t get ugly.”
“Look, he’s a grown-up, and Dad’s not the first scooter rookie to visit Walt Disney World. Stop stressing, Brainy Smurf.”
Ten minutes later, Bushwacker Bill had his first kill, the victim was none other than L4L. Seems the Boy Scout’s strong sense of personal responsibility had him throwing himself as a human shield while father jammed upstream through sweat and tiaras.
“OUCH! Dude, your Dad just hit me, I prevented him from taking out a wall of expensive looking lapel pins, I had no choice but put myself in-between and take the hit.”
“Oh man, what are we gonna do?”
“Get our sh*t run over, multiple times. I just hope the kid stays clear.”
To his credit, Dad only had a few more merchandise-murdering close ones that night. Always a Vacation Dad first, Bushwacker Bill was tracking the storm real-time on his Weather Bug radar map (I know) and found a temporary break in the torrential onslaught.
Our craptain gave the order, “Alright, we can make it if we GO NOW!”
Determined, we filed out through the drizzle. Our leader, with speed settings much higher than human, left us to die in the field. Once safely ensconced in a large exit line, I saw the old man cruising through an entrance rendered near empty due to the time and rain. Where Disney had protocol to make the exit process safe and efficent, Dad simply found an open line of egress and gunned it.
I ran to him, just in time to see a lady caught unaware, physically jump out of the scooter’s way. I’ll never forget her face. While emitting a horrific scream for her life, the woman dove for safety. I’m pretty sure she was from Italy, thanks to her accent (and the Italian expletives that rang through the air afterwards.)
I’m not proud of this next moment, but seeing as I’m the daughter of Bushwacker Bill, it shouldn’t come as a surprise. Instead of assisting the woman and her startled companions, I power walked right through that nonsense pretending to check my phone. About a minute later, Speedy Gonzales made his way up the monorail ramp, cool as a cucumber, as if he were Michael Caine in The Italian Job.
“DAD! OMG YOU ALMOST KILLED THAT WOMAN!”
I don’t know if it’s because I have a black heart filled with viscous evil, or the fact that his victim vaguely resembled a young Don Knotts whilst protecting her life-force, but I let out a stream of involuntary guffaws. I really shouldn’t have encouraged his dreadful deeds.
Bushwacker Bill, now victorious on the monorail platform, threw his head back in a hearty cackle, his give a f*ck rating was zero. “Serves the dumbass right, she was too focused on entering the park to look up! Did you hear that scream?!” I then witnessed the old man actually LOL, he might as well have been a teenaged Speed Racer in a jaunty red scarf, the adrenaline from his Italian knob-job caper, rejuvenated him by 40 years.
My heart raced and the platform began to swirl, the acrid taste of fear was palpable. What kind of monster had I unknowingly unleashed upon the sunburned dopes of Disney World?
End of Part One
Stay tuned for the NEXT installment of Bushwacker Bill’s Reign of Red Terror, it involves rain, misery, and a near breakdown of epic proportions (even by Disney’s standard.)