Conqueror(s)

After a missed lunch during a rare visit from the infamous Christpher Alan Tharp, memories of adventure can rushing to my immediate attention. So, for this installment of "My Life is Better Than Michael Hawkins" I wanted to bring to light the story that, at the time, was dubbed "3 Ninjas." As an adult, I felt that the title is still appropriate. Now begins a tumultuous tale of "3 Ninjas."

Bored and with an evergrowing manifestation of awesomeness building up in us, we took to the Port Orange YMCA, and followed a dirt path we'd never before seen. This path would be the scene of late bonfires and smores a different night, but obviously this story is greater. Austin, Chris, and myself were too awesome for this day.

So, as the three of us head down this path, one of us sees a beer bottle. At this point, it is no surprise, as this dirt path is seperated from the entirety of civilization. Either way, we see the bottle. We then begin collecting bottles as we stroll down this spiderwebbed forrest path. Before we reached our final walking point, we had obtained 30 glass bottles, with no idea what we were going to do with them.

Suddenly, there is a a small clearing in the trees. Beyond this is a solid, looming wall. Enlightenment. 3 men = 10 bottles a peice. We line up these bottles along the edge of the parking lot, facing this wall. At this point, we had spent the entire summer watching cheesy B-Horror movies, staying up until daylight, and basically making asses of ourselves. This was our shining moment. Without a word, there was an understanding between the three of us. And so it goes.

All at once, bottles begin flying through the air. Green, brown, clear, yellowing, whatever. There was a moment of silence and joy like one experiences when the plane begins falling, or someone is landing a knockout punch. It was in bullettime. It was beautiful. Just as soon as it slowed down, it sped up. Chaos erupted 100 feet away as the bottles began to explode on impact. For what seemed like an hour, glass was shattering and getting louder and louder. Glorious.

"Hey! What are you doing?!" Apparently, we were teenagers throwing bottles at the back alley of the local movie theatre. Once we got the last bottles up and out, we ran back into the path, and out the other side. Since we had disappeared, the voice stopped following us. However, we stumbled upon the largest mountain any of us had ever seen. Surrounded by bulldozers and cranes. Wondrous.

The baby I was at the time, I watched as my friends scaled this mountain. While they climbed and climbed, I couldn't help but wonder about that voice. At that point, the only voice I hear is that of Chris, screaming "Run! Run!!" As they were sliding down the face of this gravel monument, I bolted. They hit the flats running and we were off, back to the path. Apparently, there was a Sheriff and construction manager scaling the other side, sneaking up to ambush us.

So, we dive back into the path blind. 10 feet away, we see the "Hey! What are you doing?!" voice. Hello, Theatre manager. Goodbye, theatre manager. Just as fast as we dove back into the path, we were out and into a random neighborhood. And running. And running. For those of you who know Austin, Chris, and myself, you know we are not runners. And a fat kid running for two hours is not something anyone wants to see.

At this point, we're lost. There are houses, yes. There's a road, yes. Which road? We're still not sure to this day. There was a point where we stopped to breathe at a hopsital entrance, but we have no idea which hospital it was. I vague remember walking a few miles back to the car, passing a police car on the way and trying to keep it cool. I'm pretty sure high fives were exchanged once we reached the car. We drove off, into the sunset, knowing that from that day on, we would grow more awesome exponentially. And we did.

To this day, nobody has ruled La Puerta de Anaranjada like we did that day. And whereever we go, we still rule.

Keep that in mind.