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The Biz Beach Boom

Among the baked on powder coated sand blast buildings with roofs of vibrant shade, fan swirled dawns and awnings powered by heat waves, he dwells in R and D. It's the late 60's and the boss says Brad must make a sale. Out with the stars and moon of the Outer Banks you go for R and R if your name is Brad.. You've searched and searched for a Euro Hoosier Mega Million that would make your second, the rest you saved. You're real when you drive around, your RV wrapped world like giant wide angle mirrors around your vista. On this AM, to be with the stretches of sand like all the rest, was Brad's dream. Here he would boot his machine behind a sailing ship of sand, the near rain with lemon-lime motels, a dynamite boom of blue gold and white steam, the RV like a shimmering silver orb ready to stop invaders from anywhere, Tokyo or the Christmas Shopping Mob, our team always wins at Soap Opera Exams. He climbs up on the porch of the RV so the usual sunburn would help him know the real weather map, GPS .... He yawns and nods and slowly drifts away on dreams of foam undulations and FM out to a distant shore.....

Finally he yells to the boss, "Arriba!" on the wire of the booth, so loud the barnacles were shook off the box, arranges a meeting with the boss and Brad's wife Jewel asked to meet anywhere the wind sings Jennifer, Juniper, about 4:30, according to his own time machine, which needed no rewind.

Brad and the wife drive up in the finmobile towing the silver RV boat of Solid Gold Saturday Night, and the boss is wondering why they're late. Brad invites the boss in and a big thunderstorm is in progress outside, a typhoon, what would come to be called that area the worst tempest in 57 years. Wild, won eyed and wrothfull, the boss is repeating Brad's sales history in the trailerover and over as if one composing a poem while the storm builds. Suddenly the roof goes off the near house like a boxtop sent off for a prize and an 8 foot sea wall holding back a fish pond two blocks up the road sails off with the fish and 89 new wave songs. Nowhere for them to go but up, so up they climb up the stairs inside the RV with waves on the rise, to the railed observation porch on top of the RV, not unusual to Brad from so many months past up on the roof listening to the Boxtops.

Massive moist blue waves swirled round them via booms of Breath Assure. The deluge is rising so high it's all around thier chins and Jewel has to hold her beloved Muffy above their head so she can save both. The boss starts to pray out loud for a drought that would last 20 months of paydays for all the higher elf esteam as much as they'd like to be improved, moreso. "Boss above! Don't fire me!" says he (no boss, somehow, is without power it would seem in a ElectriCut Commercial). Suddenly thunder boomed a bowl and in an iradescant burst of light they all would swear was in more hues than a Thesaurus has rhyme alternatives, there was a sound of enormous air compressors beneath them. In air bubble cushions beneath the RV invented by Brad, the tin can and the mouser and the boss and Brad and the wife with a bouphant cup of beehive flower in her ear rise up and out of the water...

And Brad says "That's what's up, it's my invention of the year, a way to instaneously make a house trailer into a house boat; not lots of brains or science-just great business sense! Not only that, I was waiting to tell you, I won The Big Prize at the Supermarket this morning!"

"And are you a helicopter too?", asks the wife.


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