I love screeching sperm, I hate the "biggest show in Idaho", and I'm scared of robot roosters

This past weekend was the Thames River Festival, which is essentially a big festival put on by the Mayor's office. The several mile festival took over the southern embankment and stretched from Westminster and Big Ben down to the Tower Bridge, filling it with arts, crafts, food stalls, music, street performers and, of course, drunkards. In a way, it was like the Blackfoot Fair, only replace the words "stretched from Westminster and Big Ben down to the Tower Bridge" with "stretched from a primer-painted broken down Camaro down to two-drunk teenage farm kids humping in the sagebrush and cow manure". Oh, and I didn't see any exhibits for farm animals, while is actually kind of a shame. That would have been kind of a neat reminder of home. Too bad.

I've been feeling like somewhat of a lone wolf these last few days, so I made it a point to attend the festivities by myself this weekend. I spent five hours of my Saturday evening there, just walking around and enjoying the sights, and I have to admit it was rather bizarre to attend something like that all by myself. Almost everyone I saw out was either there as a couple or at least with a group of friends, so in a sense I felt almost invisible as I weaved through the crowd. It's hard to explain the feeling, but I felt a bit of distance to the whole proceedings, almost a bit of journalistic, voyeuristic detachment. Which doesn't mean, of course, that I didn't have a great time down there, since the weather was great and there were scads of things to see. One of my favorite parts was the parade of lights and dancers, which included a giant robot rooster all alit. He actually looked sort of like a dragon as he loomed over the crowed, his neck swinging back and forth and his metallic beak opening and snapping shut. Cool, but menacing.

It was Sunday evening, however, that I was most excited about, since that was when the closing fireworks display, fired off of a boat in the middle of the Thames, was going to be held. Unfortunately, years of living in Pocatello has conditioned me to the point that I cannot see (or even think of) fireworks without the phrase "The Biggest show in Idaho" running through my mind. (For those of you unfortunate enough to have heard the radio broadcasts or attended the show in person, the usually good fireworks display is marred by a smarmy voice actor bellowing out the words "The Biggest Show in Idaho" ad nauseam with all the faux sincerity he can muster. A horrible, horrible thing. There really should be some sort of UN Resolution passed against this guy; it really is almost a human rights violation to have to be subjected to that.

But on the fireworks show, and its overtly erotic theme. The show started a bit slow, with rhythmic shockwaves as the explosions hit the crowd. Picking up the tempo a bit, the fireworks came out harder, faster, thrusting shell after shell into the sky. The repercussions pounded more quickly now, creating an orgy of colors, and finally climaxed with a shower of shrieking sperm ejaculating from the long hard tubes on the boat. I want to stress this mental image: at the end, fireworks streamed out of the tubes that created white, round, sparkling heads and had a tail that trailed behind. And there were dozens of them coming out all at once. And they all made a loud screaming noise. Hilarious. When it was over, I felt strangely relaxed, and wondered if I needed a cigarette...

I wish I had screaming sperm. I wish every guy had screaming sperm. I think it would really cut down on some embarassing mishaps if sperm would make a piercing cry as it was released out into the wild. Pee-Wee Herman wouldn't have performed maintenance on his "playhouse" if he knew what sort of ruckus it would cause. George Michael wouldn't have used a rest area to want his own sex if it made that much noise. And no longer would mothers of teenage sons have to stand outside of the bathroom door and ask worriedly, "What's going on in there?" They would just have to listen in for the sound of self-love in action.