Beach Bums




It all started out innocently enough…

But I digress…PTSD and all that. Here’s a quick history…

I am a long haul truck driver. Hence, a professional tourist.

We do not always unload and reload our trucks with clock-work precision. Sometimes we have to sit “for a spell” and wait. This is when a lot of drivers like to explore the towns, cities, hamlets or just sights in general, of wherever we may be at the moment in this beautiful country. At least…I do.

But, there are dangers.

Let me explain…that day.

I don’t know why I buried my leg.

I was waiting for a load assignment from my dispatcher Dick. I happened to be in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina at the time. I parked my truck at a stop, called a taxi, and grabbed a towel…shorts and tee shirt.

A tee shirt? For the beach? No one is seeing my man boobs….Anyways…

I was now sitting on a beautiful beach. Pretty much by myself this time of morning. It was a beautiful start to a day. Lots of gulls, turns, waves, seaweed…you see it don’t you? It was great.

I sat down on the sand, laid back with my head on the towel and gazed at the heavens for a while.

Then I sat up. I could feel the sand on my back, at the waist of my shorts, in my hair…And for some reason…I decided to bury my leg.

I started scooping the cool, WET sand over my leg. Starting at the cankle and working my way up.

I had made a nice little pile over my leg. It was cool. It felt good. I looked at my toes and wiggled the little piggy’s. They made me smile. I love my piggy’s.

That’s when Poo and Loo appeared.

I give them these names because I never learned their actual names. It is better to try and distance oneself from their tormentors to be able to hopefully interact with society once more. To be able to look people in the eyes. To not piss in their pants when a door slams. You get my point.

Their shadows blocked the sun…falling across my leg. Partly shading my eyes I looked up and beheld the aforementioned Poo and Loo.

They were standing shoulder to shoulder. Staring at my buried leg.

“Do you want us to help with the other leg?” Loo asked. She was holding a pink pail and green shovel. The pail had SpongeBob on it. I’ll never forget how SpongeBob laughed at me that day…mocking me

SpongeBob knew something.

Loo was about 4 yrs old. She had light hair. She had on a pink pair of little girl bikini bottoms that had a little green frill around the waist, and the Little Mermaid swimming on a hip.

She was topless. Sand on her belly and legs. Pink polish on toes of right foot. Topless Barbi doll…in the bucket.

I remember these details because I am also a former cop. Trained to notice things. Trained to teach people to try and remember as much about their attackers as possible to help with an investigation and possible apprehension.

I don’t remember much about Loo’s face however. Just the eyes. Those bright, cheery, happy little girl eyes.

What I didn’t see is the extent she would go to, with her fellow sadist, the quiet and docile Poo alongside. The lengths and depths of perversion she was capable of.

Poo…evidently the muscle of the pair, was also probably 4 yrs old. He had dark hair. He was as tall as Loo, but thinner, like boys tend to be. He had on flowery shorts. He had sand on his belly and legs. I checked the toes…no polish.

He also had a pail…generic blue…and a like colored shovel. He had a Ken doll…also in his bucket. Ken was naked. And he was obviously a eunuch. Poor Ken. Poor poor Ken.

I don’t remember much about Poos’ face either. Hair covered his eyes. He tended to walk around and hover behind Ms. Loo. He knew his place.

Without a word…my nightmare began.

 Poo sat down on his haunches, following Loo’s lead and began to cover my other leg. I laughed. This was fun! I was tickled by the 2 little kids and their industriousness. I was letting them have their fun. What the hell!?

I don’t remember exactly how it happened. My recall of the subsequent events is hazy.

Trauma’s like that.

I remember Loo putting her hands on my shoulders and laying me back on the sand while Poo continued to dump his pail full of sand onto both my legs and stomach. Loo was sweet enough to have even folded up my towel and using it as a pillow. To keep the sand out of my hair she said…

Sweet Loo. So kind and thoughtful.

They resumed their teamwork. They dug; hauled and dumped pails full of sand onto my increasingly inert body.

 I heard grown-up laughter and turning my head slowly to the right I saw 2 women sitting in beach chairs with big sun hats. They were looking in our direction and laughing. The one closest to my pile of sand (about 50’ away) was holding a toddler about 18-24 months old. He had sunscreen on his little button nose. He was sucking on a bottle and staring at me. Staring at me like Loo had. One of the sun hat ladies was trying to get him to eat what looked like fruit or potato salad. He’d turn his head on an angle resisting her attempts, but still working his bottle.

 I was wrenched from this action when sand splattered onto my face and lips. Shaking my head, sputtering…I croaked, “Y’all are getting it in my face” Loo came to my aid looking worried. She brushed the sand from my face and lips. “That’s better” she cooed. I smiled. She smiled. We were friends.

Very soon though, I realized…they had buried me. ALL of me up to my neck. An Iron lung of sand. I had not noticed that with each layer of sand, had come…in this order: Dump sand; wet the sand, pat the sand with shovels, stomp sand with feet…repeat. I was packed in that sand tomb tighter than a frog’s ass! I found, in a fast growing panic, that I could hardly take a deep breath. The motion of my head was restricted. “You guys did a good job”…I laughed nervously.

Loo didn’t look at me. Poo didn’t look at me. They went to the sun hat people and came back carrying a bag. They dug around in the bag. Things tinkled inside the bag.

Loo came over and started decorating my tomb with sea shells of all sorts. Some Starfish. Some Sand dollars and other beach coveted accoutrements. They added a little bit of kelp for greenage. Looked rather homey I mused.

Loo then added topless Barbi to the top of my sand pile (I’ve always loved Barbi). Poo sat Ken next to Barbi. Poor eunuch Ken. Here poor Ken is…on a lovely beach with a beautiful, topless, speechless woman…and he’s a freaking eunuch.

Doll life sucks.

As I was contemplating the life and plight of poor eunuch Ken, I noticed a presence close to my left ear. I slowly turned my head in that general direction. It was Alfred. The 18-24 month old. He was still working his bottle, and squatting baby/Indian style next to my face…staring at me. I called him Alfred because he resembles Hitchcock.

He was naked now. His diaper, his swim trunks, that had protected the diaper, were not on his fat little sand covered butt. Nor covering Mr. Willy

The soggy diaper was in the hand that wasn’t holding the bottle. It smelled funny.

Albert had seen Loo wipe the sand off my face apparently. Sweet Albert was gonna wipe my face too.

I anticipated his intent because I am a grown up and think much faster than an 18-24 month old in most cases. I turned my head away from the diaper wielding mad baby and breathlessly honked, “Hey little girl, he’s trying to wipe my face with his diaper!” It wasn’t a honk… actually. Because honking requires air. I had none. It was more like a wheeze…with no air. I was covered under probably 10 tons of sand.

Maybe not 10 tons. More like 2.

Loo and Poo were nowhere to be seen or heard.

As Mr. Albert wiped my face off with his diaper, still working his bottle mind you, I caught a glance of Loo and Poo coming back toward my pile with a big plastic bowl. The fruit/potato salad bowl apparently. Loo saw what Alfred was doing and dropped her side of the bowl, hurrying over to stop the little bastard from his facial duties. She ran up and snatched the diaper out of his hand.

Have you ever noticed that wet, soggy diapers explode when exposed to any type of adverse kinetic energy? I think it has something to do with the chemical reaction between force x pressure x ammonia x methane. The diaper exploded. It was in my hair, my lips, my eyes…everywhere. I would’ve started crying then, but I wasn’t going to show Alfred any fear. He was still staring at me. Still working the bottle. And now, his nose was running. I bit my lip and glared at him.

However, I was nervous beyond reason and acutely aware of the fact of Mr. Willy being so close to my ear. You see…I’m a dude. I have been around babies of my own that I have prepped…and cleaned. Boy babies, of a naked persuasion, tend to fire off Mr. Willy with any type of temperature or pressure change. Even a gust of air could trigger it. And now…. Here am I, on a beach…with waves crashing….Great. Any moment now.

 I surrendered to the inevitable.

I was saved. One of the sun hat ladies grabbed Alfred up and threw him over her shoulder, wiping the sand off his fat ass. “Boy” she smiled, looking down at me, “They’ve done a good job on you” she was nice. I just smiled up at her. One eye closed from the diaper shrapnel. Loo was cleaning my face again. Potato Salad. AHA! That’s what they were eating. My stomach growled. I tried to lick her fingers. (Not really, I was only thirsty)

“We’re gonna look for his belly-button” Poo said.

The sun hat lady nodded, still smiling sweetly. “Wow” she said humoring them. “That could be anywhere under that sand”

Don’t tell them that. Please don’t tell them that. If they would ask me I would tell them where my belly-button is. It’s in MY BELLY! I don’t even explore it. Guys don’t mess with their belly buttons! We don’t clean out our belly-buttons and we don’t wash anything from the knees down. IT’S THE LAW!!

That’s why nobody has found Hoffa, Bigfoot DNA, or the cure for cancer. They are all in some dudes belly-button. National Geographic doesn’t even go there! Plus, when I stick my finger or Q-tip in my belly-button, it tingles my toes and makes my nose itch. It’s really weird.

So, I avoid touching it. That’s why I store lint there. You know…for camp fires.

 I knew where my belly-button is dammit. I’d just seen it that morning.

Loo patted me on the side of the face, she was smiling. I smiled. “All better” she said. I was docile now. Go ahead, I thought. Then…for some unexplained reason (perhaps prolonged captivity causes it), I said “Bet you can’t find it”…

What was I saying?

 Why did I say that? Loos smile vanished slowly. Her eyes narrowing at the same rate. She turned and glanced at Poo. I glanced at Poo. He was holding a wooden spoon that had remnants of potato salad on it. He grinned. Loo turned back to me and whispered…”We’ll find it”

I groaned.

Poo returned from the waves. The bowl full of sea water. Loo stood up from her perch next to my head and went next to him, bending over and picking up the wooden spoon and a large shell. I only saw this because that’s what she was holding when she returned to my pile. She knelt down beside me, placing the spoon, handle end down above the pile, somewhere in the vicinity of my groin. 4 yr olds have no anatomy awareness at all! She raised the shell above the the flat end of the spoon….then hesitated. She looked over her shoulder at Poo. He nodded gravely. She turned back to her task, confirmation received. She hit the spoon.

I felt where the spoon had made its first impact, I quickly calculated the seismological data in my head and came to the conclusion that she was not above my belly-button. She was much…much too low for that.

“Uh” I said “That’s not even close” I giggled. She never took her eyes off the job of whacking the spoon, nor acknowledging I had even said anything. Once again I repeated my statement. Whack-pause-Whack!

The drill was getting closer. Too close to my Not belly-button area. Whack!

Poo watched. Tongue stuck out, concentrating with her in some devious 4 yr old mind-link. Whack!

 I knew that 2 more whacks would neuter me. She stopped. I exhaled. I quit wagging my head from side to side in pre-deflowered anguish. Relief flooded me. I think I cried.

 Poo stepped up with the bowl. Lifting the bowl to his waist and bending slightly over my sand prison, he began to slowly pour the water down the hole Loo had just drilled.

I was being Fracked! They were Fracking me!

I watched as the sea water and potato salad medium poured down. I could feel it break thru the remaining half inch of sand. I could feel it trickle across my belly, my waist, my happy place. It felt like warm little spiders crawling all between the sand and my body.  It started to pool underneath my back.

All of a sudden…I had to pee. No…I won’t give them the satisfaction.

I just knew that these 2 little monsters were going to leave me here. I was gonna get left behind like a sand shovel or sandal! I felt the panic rise in my throat.


The coroner is standing over my dead body that has been dug out of 2 tons of sand. The sand tomb had been compacted to the density of lead. It took a back-hoe to get my body out, one of the firemen had said. (I’m floating above the scene, over-hearing this because I have evidently died and stuck around to haunt the 3 little bastards that killed me)

The coroner is puzzled. One arm wrapped around his waist, the other hand rubbing the stubble on his face.

“I’ll be damned” he says quietly.

“What’s up?” asks the Fire Chief

“Nothing…I’m just trying to figure out why he’s got potato salad in his ass”

“Potato salad?” “What…do you mean?” asked the Fire Chief nervously

“Potatoes, onions, pickles, eggs, mustard…that’s potato salad right?”…the coroners voice trailed off.

“My mom doesn’t use pickles and mustard” said a Cop.

“I like pickles” said the Fire Chief


My body is turned over onto my stomach before being zipped up into a bag.

The young coroner puts the back of his hand to his lips…”My God” he croaks.

The fire chief whispers “God didn’t have anything to do with this”

“Animals” the coroner agrees…”Pure evil”

They all make the sign of the cross.


I have given up. There is no escape. I am covered in sand. I have to pee, and I have potato salad in my butt. Even if I survived this, how would I explain it? The shame.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! Ms. Loos’ spoon went.

 I looked at the sky, waiting for the stairway to heaven to appear and bring me home.

But the devil was still here. He still had business with me.

I felt the devil next to me. I turned my head toward the presence.

It was Alfred. He was still “necked”. He was still working on his bottle. He was still staring at me.

The wind picked up. And he shivered a little and frowned.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! The spoon drove a different hole now.

I waited for it to happen. I turned my face away from Mr. Willy and waited.

Alfred grunted. I blacked out.

When I awoke 2 yrs later (not really) I was alone. The sand pile was gone. I raised my head and looked for the piggys…they wiggled. I checked my belly-button…the toes tingled, my nose itched. No potato salad in my butt…groin area un-penetrated.

It was like it had almost never happened.

 I slowly rolled over onto my right side and noticed a letter folded in my towel. It said “You’re really good with kids, call me…Thx, Tina (her number)” I grinned and lay back.” Not a total loss” I thought. Maybe the torture would be worth it after all.

I rolled over onto my left side to look for my tee shirt. I froze. There before my eyes was a half-buried diaper….and a bottle. I stared at it, once again revisiting that terrible hour of captivity by two 4 yr olds…and a crazed Pee Pee baby.

“No” I said…and crumpled up the letter. I drug sand back over me and began to sob.

About treyzguy

I am so full of self-confidence and crap that I would worship myself against my own will.... Under penalty of death.

7 comments on “Beach Bums

  1. Long, but funny! Please tell me this is fiction. Why would any parent let their kids do that? Fiction, right? Here’s a possible title for your coffee table book (I know you plan to write one,) “The Trucker Tells Tales.” I planned to use something similar years ago. It has a nice ring to it. Thanks for making me laugh!

  2. Funny, but I didn’t get the relevance of scene 1& 2

  3. Toooooo funny. I agree it was a tad l.o.n.g but most entertaining. A trucker at the hands of a couple of four-year-olds must feel humiliating. Fabulous.

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