In the illustrious history of Flubug’s most time-honored tradition, the Tour duh Flubug is the most cherished (and feared) event in Down County. Challengers come from every walk of life. In the case of Knowe How and Don’t Knowe How Yee, they often give their lives in the process. But despite the perils, despite the danger, despite the sheer grit to survive, one man always stands tall in the end.
Today that man is again Crotch Johnson.
At 2:55pm DCT (Down County Time) this afternoon, the checkered flag came down and Crotch Johnson swept across the Finish Line in his battered but resilient ’74 Charlatan, waving a half-eaten goat meat hoagie at the cheering crowd. Within minutes, his Charlatan was swarmed.
With this, his sixth straight win in as many entries, Crotch has earned the right to have his name etched on his father’s oil drum, kept on sacred display at the Overmeyer Historical Society year round, and will be given the key to the city by Mayor Bobby Ornery with Flublue at his side. The ceremony, set for this weekend at Founder’s Park (the safe entrance) all but guarantees Crotch’s entry in the history books and will no doubt be attended by hundreds of adoring fans.
Due to budget cuts, of course, this year’s key is not actually a key. It’st the combination to Locker #107, once held by Vince Ribaldi at Flubug High, who is rumored to have left his tee shirts and several valuables behind when he was expelled for running guns. But that won’t dampen the spirit of the event, claimed Mayor Ornery who said, “We just wanted to do something to commemorate Crotch and, well… with the budget cuts and all, it was the best we could come up with.”
But the real prize is Scotch’s oil drum which has already been strewn with plaques, flowers and tributes, not only to Crotch, but also to those believed lost in the deadly climax on the Miasma last night. Yee and his wife Gee wept openly at the loss of their vehicle, rice cookers, six crates of Ramen noodles and two sons, Knowe How Yee and Don’t Knowe How Yee who many believe were overcome by the boiling Miasma.
Nick Carz was also in mourning, muttering curses over his bookmaking losses after he touted the prospects of Hoot Sorghum (who was last seen over Australia).
But perhaps the most unexpected (and touching) moment of the day came when Hope Faydz, dazed and on foot, dragged sluggishly across the Finish Line still holding the steering wheel from her (stolen) roadster. Onlookers rushed to her side as she collapsed, but she said only four words, “I’ll get that bitch.”
So here we are. At the end of another Tour duh Flubug. Each year we cheer our heroes and mourn our losses. And together we celebrate the spirit that endears this event and leaves us secure in the faith that come hell and high water…
We’ll see y’all back again next year!