The Attack of the Killer Oil Spill

SAN FRANCISCO – It began as a regular night. My girlfriend and I were showing a friend from New Zealand around San Francisco. It was a wonderful night of paper bags and blurry street lamps that hit its climax on the Bay, at a small beach just a few blocks from Pier 39. Under the influence and the moonlight, the water looked inviting. Our friend professed her love for the city, saying it was beautiful. Just then, a slow-moving cop car rolled up. The three of us did our best to just look sleepy as the cop told us to stay out of the water. Of course, we agreed but exchanged grins as he drove away. I figured he was just bored and needed someone to harass. As soon as he was far enough out of sight, shoes were taken off, pant legs were rolled up and my girlfriend and our friend from out of town were splashing around ankle-deep, having the times of their lives running along the beach and singing.

Without warning, the night turned into what could easily have been the first 15 minutes of a B-horror movie. When they got out of the water, my girlfriend noticed that her hands and feet were covered in a black substance that shone in the moonlight. We racked our brains trying to figure out the mystery of the stuff. Our theories ranged from tar to octopus ink.

Watch Video