I’m driving to Grand Manan Island on Saturday afternoon.

I made a spontaneous plan to head down on Friday but decided to wait a day after talking to my friend on the island. She informed me that high winds were making for a very rough ferry crossing.

She said people were wearing life jackets and praying on the ferry, not a word of a lie. Little kids were puking all over everyone’s shoes. I’ve never been seasick in my life but I don’t think my limits have really been tested.

Apparently Sir Paul and company have never heard of Grand Manan. Last time I was down there the fishermen were shooting seals all over the place. The seals pop up out of the water and the fishermen blow their heads right off with the old shotgun. Seals are considered vermin. Stiff competition for Fundy fishies ’round those parts.

You have to show up an hour-and-a-half early to be sure of a spot on the ferry. If I can’t get on I’m just gonna drive my car right off the pier and drive across underwater on the floor of the Bay of Fundy. I bet I could make it.

Monday morning I’ll turn around and drive home the same way. My car will emerge from the water onto a beach in Black’s Harbour with seaweed hanging off it everywhere.

I’ll roar up the highway all the way to Saint John, New Brunswick going 200 km/h and then I’ll bust straight through the main doors of the Saint John City Market. And everyone will be in awe of me and the Dulsemobile.

At the market deli I’ll look in the mirror and realize I have one big eye on the middle of my face, and my arms have been replaced by long floppy tentacles with suction cups all over them.

So I’ll snag a couple of mangoes from a fruit stand at Pete’s Frootique and then give’er down the escalator towards Brunswick Square. Some big pig of a security guard will yell ‘Stop’ but I’ll just laugh and climb straight up the glass wall of the elevator.

Then I’ll take off running through the hallways of the Delta Brunswick Hotel, mangoes curled up in one long tentacle with the other one dragging along on the carpet behind me.

I’ll run and run and I won’t stop until I collapse huffing and puffing on a bed inside some yuppie executive suite. Because I am Squidman and I can walk through fucking walls.