Hi. How are you? Feel free not to answer that question. I’m fine.
Let’s get to the point, Rio: explain yourself. You failed to keep a pool clean enough for people to swim in, Rio. The world knew about your seas, which you have been dumping raw shit into for decades now, but this was a pool. Newly-constructed, in fact: an artificial body of water within a controllable environment, and you managed to fuck that up.
I mentioned my Uncle Arty before, Rio: he and my Aunt Barbara had a pool when we were all growing up in New Jersey, and that sucker was pristine. You could eat off my Uncle Arty’s pool. And, Rio, my Uncle Arty is a good man–raised four boys and sent them to college–but he’s not Einstein; if he could do it, then you can, too.
Failing that, perhaps you could have called the pool guy, Rio? Three out of every four vehicles on a South Florida highway at any given time is a pool guy’s pickup truck. There are also a lot of Brazilians in South Florida. Perhaps one is a pool guy, and you could have had him do the job as a favor, out of patriotism or something?
Did you forget to stop at the pool supply store? Was the bucket of chlorine too heavy and your shoulder hurt? Did the filter get clogged up with endangered tree frogs? Was the pump stolen? Did the Joker sneak in and poison the water? Was the Aquatic Center built on a graveyard with a shitty foundation that cracked and now there’s corpse-juice seeping up into the pools? Is voodoo, or whatever the Brazilian equivalent is, involved?
Help me understand, Rio. Help me understand how you fucked up something this unfuckupable. Please tell me the fact I’ve missed; otherwise, this small incident must be read as representative of mind-blowing incompetence of a depth and breadth never seen before. You drop the doohickey in the water, you add some stuff, you keep the filters clear, and you make sure the pump is working; there is a small bit of math involved, but it is not taxing.
It’s an indoor pool, so you don’t even need to skim leaves off the surface. Jesus, Rio.
Anyway, Rio, I hope it doesn’t come across like I’m rooting for disaster. I’m not; I’m rooting for you; there’s still time for a comeback. But you have to get your shit together, Rio. And then, when you have the shit all together, don’t throw it into the pool.
Thoughts on the Dead