Category Archives: hotties

More Like the Blowlympics

So my woman decided to write a post about how hating the Olympics doesn’t mean you aren’t patriotic, and since I haven’t felt very inspired to write anything for a few years or so, I figured I’d like to get in on that. Despite the fact that Torontonians apparently feel not supporting the Olympics is unpatriotic, I don’t know anyone around here who likes them. True, most of my friends are alcoholics, criminals, and white trash, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t a legitimate representation of everyone in America. Let’s quickly review the basics shall we?

1) The Olympics are boring. Watching them is like watching reruns of CSPAN. I would rather do chores around the house wearing a suit of fiberglass insulation than watch the Olympics. I would rather listen to Rosanne and Fran Drescher argue about yesterday’s episode of the View than watch the Olympics.

2) Almost all Olympic sports, challenging as they may be, are not spectator sports. Everyone knows figure skating sucks. Ski jumping may be scary, but if you see one jump you’ve pretty much got the idea. If you’re a dick like me and you enjoy people wrecking badly, it almost never happens. (Too soon for a luger pun?) Even the relatively exciting sports of BMX or Karate are still way lamer than watching a non-Olympic version like the X-Games or the UFC.

3) What the hell is bandy? I realize I live in a warm climate and ice sports aren’t popular, but seriously? The same thing goes for basque pelota, korfball, and boules. I may be an ignorant American, but I would argue that sports shouldn’t even be considered for a world tournament unless they are popular in more than two countries. What’s next, life saving? Oh wait, that’s an Olympic sport too. Being a lifeguard is NOT a sport, I don’t care how many boobs were on Bay Watch.

So now that I have irrefutably proven that the Olympics generally blow, let’s move on to how that applies to me being patriotic. Let me first start by explaining that I’m not patriotic in the traditional sense of actually being loyal to my country. Here are just a few things I hate about America: everyone who runs it, guidos, Fox News, people who insist America is the best country in the world without knowing anything about the world, the fact that Top Gear is filmed somewhere else, and public service announcements. (Seriously, shut up Hollywood)

However, this doesn’t mean there aren’t a ton of great things that have come out of America that I enjoy taking credit for when talking to foreigners. So if you think I’m unpatriotic, well fuck you. Here’s a list of amazing shit I or someone related to me probably were responsible for.

Look at this guy!

Grizzly Adams: He tamed fucking bears. I can only assume he settled for grizzly bears in the absence of wild dragons. Also he owned one of the coolest coat-beard combos in the history of mankind.

Rock and Roll: While the debate over who technically invented rock and roll is one that will never be agreed upon, (see Beatles vs Elvis if you’re an idiot) the fact remains that America has contributed a lot to Rock and Roll over the years. And while lots of my favorite bands are not home grown, a whole lot of them are. Skynyrd, Aerosmith, Van Halen, Metallica, Motley Crue, Guns N’ Roses, Disturbed, Green Day, Sublime, 311, Rage Against the Machine; the list goes on and on but I’m tired of copying crap from Wikipedia. The point is that without downplaying the contribution of the rest of the world, we’ve done some face melting rocking over the years.

The Ultimate Fighting Championship: I don’t give a flying crap where martial arts come from, the UFC is a great American institution. I was always bored with sports (like the Olympics) and never enjoyed playing or watching any until I experienced mixed martial arts in an octagon fence/cage. If you haven’t seen it and have a penis, please fix one or the other. That crap is the shit. Who doesn’t like insane men willingly (or unwillingly) jumping in a cage and beating the life blood out of each other? Pussies, that’s who, and pussies stink.

Suck it world.

Man on the Moon: Face it, it was a race, to the moon, and we won. I don’t care if the USSR cloned a dinosaur/minotaur beast and puts a damn army of them on the moon, we still got a man there first, and that’s damn cool. Next race, put a man on the sun. If any country can beat us there Niel Armstrong will look like Pauly Shore if he hadn’t made Biodome. (You know that shit was funny, don’t even lie. Unless you never smoked weed, and then it probably wasn’t funny, but that’s your own fault not his)

Porn: After a lengthy break from blogging I’m back to report the ol’ USA produces more porn than any other country on earth. (I didn’t happen across any provable facts during my break, so sue me) If Faith up there can’t give you a few great reasons why porn is awesome, then I sure as hell can’t explain it in a way you will understand. If that is the case think of it like physics, and then just understand I’m pretty much Einstein when it comes to this topic. (That’s why I’m on the internet instead of out there in real life somewhere.)

Anheuser-Bush: The number one seller of beer on the planet. Sure there are a lot of other companies and countries that make much better beer, but that doesn’t change a thing. They actually are the king of beers. For all you beer snobs out there, there’s a reason such watery swill is dominating the planet. Poor people like drinking too, and for the price they actually deliver a good quality beverage. Also a little known fact about Budweiser for all you Heineken fans out there: if you accidentally leave a Budweiser under your car seat in the middle of the dog days of summer for three days and it doesn’t explode from the heat, it tastes exactly like Heineken. It’s probably not safe to drink, but I did once and it was delicious once I got it chilled down.

As you can see America has a lot of great things I enjoy, unfortunately none of them are on the Olympics. While it is true that one great thing about our country is that everyone except the Tea Party people usually make room for other folks to enjoy things they don’t support, the fact remains that the Olympic Games are exactly like the state of the union address, no matter how important it’s supposed to be, it’s still not as good as the regularly scheduled programming. That’s what highlight reels are for.

Flying skateboards and stuff

If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that most of the funnest things available in life are only available when you put absolutely no consideration into how they will affect your future and completely forget any lessons you may have learned in the past.

For instance, building a surfboard to ski behind a forklift at work. This is an incredibly fun activity, on my cool list of things to do right in between fireworks-gunfights and eating that really good looking food you forgot to put in the fridge, two days ago. And despite all my mothers warnings, I have never killed myself. I’ve never even lost an eye. (but don’t count me out yet, I’d look fucking awesome in an eye-patch) Any kind of forethought would point out that combining extreme sports with heavy machinery could be dangerous, but who gives a crap, because surfing on gravel is fun, especially when you’re getting paid to do it. Unfortunately we live in a day and age where people like my boss have a hard time grasping that concept, and expressly forbid people like me from ever attaching anything to the forklift to ride again.

This is why I’ve decided to time travel. I think the present is limiting my options, and fuck that. Nobody limits my options and gets away with it. Whole wheat bread tried to limit my flavor options once, so I drop kicked it into the sun, and that is why whole wheat bread no longer exists.

But since I’ve decided to travel through time, I’ve been considering some of the more complicated moral consequences. I mean it could be dangerous in a bad way. And before you get started, no I do not mean changing the past and erasing yourself by altering history. That’s impossible, trust me, I did the math. (my apologies to Back To The Future, which although now disproven was still an entertaining series of movies)

First off, if I travel back in time and get it on with myself, is that gay sex or masturbation? I’ve asked a number of people now and the general consensus is that anal and oral would constitute gay sex, because either way at some point in time you either have to gobble some meat or get your shit pushed in. However, traveling back in time and giving yourself a handjob would be ok, because that’s really just a complicated version of the stranger. Finger up the ass during a handjob would be pushing it, but that really just depends on how you feel about prostate stimulation, which isn’t a time dilemma, just a moral dilemma.

Honestly, I could probably just travel back in time and ask Jesus what he thought. Except, he made a lot of really bad decisions on a survival scale, so I’d probably just go back to see him turn water into wine. I have drank a lot of booze, but I’ve never had any magic booze. And then I could get a shirt that said “WWJD – What Would Jesus Drink”, and it would have a picture of me and him taking some wicked wine bongs at that wedding. It would be cool. Except, I imagine that magic wine is extra potent, so I might get too smashed and end up traveling back even farther in time and banging Mary. And they didn’t have birth control back then, so with my luck I’d end up being Mary’s babies daddy, and honestly I’m just not responsible enough to be God. On second thought maybe I should just avoid all those Bible times.

I think it would be cool to go back in time with a tank and screw up other peoples wars. Like the civil war! Fuck the north, the south will rise again bitches! Plus it would be cool to live in South America. (please don’t correct me on this one, I know the south didn’t name themselves south America, just go with it) Would I use my powers for good and try to stop wars? Hells no, I would go win them in rampant orgies of blood and death rained down by yours truly! Not only would that be fun, but i would have the added advantage of getting to battle the inevitable time cops, and I’ve always wanted to kill a cop.

You may be asking yourself, “Now I know he solved the whole time space continuum thing, but how in the world did he afford a tank?” I’m glad you asked. I would also travel both forwards and backwards in time stealing from the government and the rich, and making amazing investments. I don’t think I would give to the poor, because I like poor people just the way they are, but I would give to myself. And depending on how much spare time I had, I would either start the worlds first completely realistic and artificially intelligent sex doll company using robot slaves from the future, or I would cure world hunger.

Which leads me to another moral time dilemma. If I can travel through time can I live forever? Would I continue aging in the past and future having only eighty or so years of life to experience in whatever order I want, or could I find a way to cheat death? At the very least I’m pretty sure I could get some bad ass medicine from the future to keep me alive longer.

And lastly, if I travel back in time and bang hot chicks, does that count as cheating? Because technically if I go far enough from the present date my woman will either be dead or not born yet, and I’m kind of thinking Uschi Digart would be fun.

Uschi Digart: the Sistine Chapel of tits

Uschi Digart: the Sistine Chapel of tits

Terrifica: a real life super bitch

I was recently reading an article about a bunch of real life super heroes, or rather, a bunch of jack-asses with too much spare time and a grip on reality akin to my own grip on sobriety. Mostly you find very similar guys who although clearly weirder than the average bear, honestly just want to do a little good in the world, whether that be returning dropped purses, cutting through the cops tire clamps to free the sufferers of a police state, or assisting with the alleged busting up of unspecified illegal gambling dens. Cool stuff, more power to them, rock on, and all that jazz.

Unfortunately there are bound to be a few disappointments to the crime fighting community. I thought “The Big O” was a disappointment when I found out his super power was in fact not giving women tons and tons of free orgasms, but rather just a bunch of Dudley Dooright bullshit. However, I had no idea how truly misguided a super human could be until I read about Terrifica.

Everyone who hates sex dresses like a drag queen, duh.

Everyone who hates sex dresses like a drag queen, duh.

Terrifica derives her name not from being terrific, but rather from the greek word terriblos, meaning terrible, and fica meaning fecal matter. Her super power is being a crusty bitter bitch and running around in bars like a lunatic trying her best to stop people from hooking up. That’s right, this woman has devoted her life to making sure other people have as little casual sex as possible. Can you say C.U.N.T? Look I understand that a lot of women walk around like two dollar whores in clubs shaking their vagina left and right, then get all pissy and bleedy when some guy assumes they are loose, buys them a bunch of alcohol, listens to them blather on about Twilight and how crazy the receptionist at work is, dances to a bunch of chick music for a while, drives them home, tricks them into getting naked and laying down on their back, and then like some treacherous poon robber makes some fierce sex to their baby boxes without thinking about what their fickle fleeting emotional whims might be the next morning. I really do understand ladies. But just because you’ve had a devastating break up or two does not mean that you should try to stop everyone else from making the sexuals. Get over it, SRSLY!

What Terrifica needs to do is stay home and focus on not being used again. She can just stay in her little apartment with her fifty cats and keep her sweet ass nice and safe from all those horrible men out there, and likewise, I’m sure they won’t mind too much either. But no, apparently somewhere along the line while she was crying to herself and eating ice cream, thinking about how much she hated those mean old meanies who didn’t fulfill her idiotic fantasies of how every man should be a prince charming and love only her, and she doesn’t share any responsibility for her relationships being poorly matched, somewhere in there spandex sounded like a good idea. Really? WTF mate?

The following is a quote from a article I read spicifically about her. “On a recent Saturday night in Park Slope, Terrifica bursts through the door of a bar called Commonwealth. She is resplendent in red spandex, scarlet boots, and red plastic overcoat. She wears no cape or mask—tonight is an “undercover” operation. She makes a beeline to a dark corner where a couple looks poised to canoodle. After speaking to them quietly, she opens her utility belt—referring to it as a fanny pack will not endear you to Terrifica—and gives them a pair of gold lamé fortune cards. When Terrifica moves on to another couple, I ask what happened. “She asked if we were going to hook up tonight,” says Lauren, a 24-year-old painter. (“We’re just good friends,” interjects her buddy Justin.) “She offered us a condom and said that if I was going to be tricked into having sex, at least it should be safe.”

Dear Terrificunt: if you ever read this, please go fuck yourself. In fact, that’s possibly the best advise I have ever given anyone. Your new super power should be fucking yourself, and you should change your name to Vibratica or Erotica or Clitica or something. And instead of being the ultimate cock block, you should spend some time giving people sex toys and sensual lotions and buying rounds for bars and slipping date rape drugs into everyones drink so everyone gets laid! Seriously, if you are that hung up on your exes, please, for the love of God, go get laid. Tell you what, me and Emerald will get you drunk and love you up something crazy, as our personal favor to the world. (I haven’t actually cleared this with Em yet, but go ahead and call me, I’m sure we can work something out) You know you want it, come and get it sugar tits, just don’t expect us to call you back, or use protection.

Id use her! Shawing!

I'd use her! Shawing!

Real Girls Eat … Their Words

So I recently ran across a story involving Jessica Simpson, the super hot, super dumb sex symbol/musical train wreck. She was photographed wearing a shirt that says “Real girls eat meat”, and of course, the jack offs down at PETA were outraged. (you may have to look for a few minutes, I know I did, but there actually is a slogan on Jessica Simpson’s boobs)

I was immediately distracted by the shirt that anonymous-man-purse-wearing guy is sporting that clearly reads “fuckery” and wondered why this story wasn’t about Pat Roberson freaking out over a trans-sexual flaunting his trans-sexuality. Or perhaps why PETA wasn’t concerned about all the members of DEVO that were slaughtered to make her purse, but then I remembered that this is all about how animals are more important than people and our collective survival, and how offensive it is for Jessica Simpson, the planets leading role model, to slather some morally bankrupt kitty torture slogan all over her delicious boobies.

The following is “Top Five Reasons Only Stupid Girls Brag About Eating Meat”, a blog post taken from the Peta website, and my top five reasons only idiots blog for PETA about Jessica Simpson’s wardrobe choices.

1. Meat increases the risk of breast cancer. A 2007 study of 35,000 women published in the British Journal of Cancer found that women who ate meat were far more likely to develop breast cancer than women who consumed none. Will Jessica’s next t-shirt will say, “Real Girls Smoke 3 Packs a Day”?

How absolutely correct of you, you self righteous cunt. Thank you for informing us all about the obvious correlation between eating meat and losing your tits to cancer. Without trusted members of the medical field to educate the ignorant masses we could have blithely written that off as some sort of cracked up nonsense. Oh wait, say what?!!! You aren’t a doctor? You aren’t even a medical professional of any kind? Holy crap according to your PETA profile, you are trained in advertising and promotions. So tell me exactly, Christine Doré, when did you become an expert on the dangers of cancer? Was it when your career became “focused on e-mail marketing” or was it at some point when you were hanging out with your dogs Howdy and Francis listening to Michael Jackson, the kiddie molester? (I guess it’s ok as long as he didn’t wear a t-shirt promoting some kind of harm to ANIMALS for Christ’s sake)

Let’s review a few other risk factors for breast cancer shall we Christine? Age, previous breast cancer, family history, alcohol use, exposure to outdated medical practices, exercise, body fat, high body weight/height, previous miscarriage or abortion, and hormone levels, especially that of estrogen, caused by an early first menstruation, late menopause, late pregnancy, no pregnancies, birth control pills, and hormone replacement therapy. According to Christine’s logic, anyone participating in an activity with a cancer risk increase has an implied shame of some kind. I guess all you women out there who have gone through puberty or lived past forty five should write sincere apologies to Christine for leading such a shitty example for the non cancer having bitches like her. Not to mention the devils who were born with a history of cancer in their family. In fact, I think we should go ahead and put PETA in charge of a genome cleansing project run by their blog writing marketing staff so that none of the little girls who grow up in the vegan future will have to worry about breast cancer ever again. (they can focus on worrying about growing up to be thumb-in-their-ass idiots who piss off everyone who likes steak)

2. Real girls don’t support animal abuse. Compassion is super sexy, if the huge number of hot celebs ditching meat is any indication. Young women turn vegetarian in droves when they learn that the meat industry cuts the sensitive beaks off newborn chicks and cuts off the tails of baby piglets.

Oh snap, how right she is, all women should be sexy drones just like the vapid, whoreish meat bags that line the glittery gutters of Hollywood. While we’re at it, why would you use Hollywood starlet’s as a lifestyle example for young women in a post bashing one of the biggest Hollywood starlets for being dumb and cruel? You know what’s sexy to men? I’ll give you a clue Christine, it’s not flapping your face hole incessantly about the evils of eating meat, it’s displaying your tits and ass like a five dollar Mexican hooker. Let’s look at some movies guys like for a second. Die Hard, 300, Rambo, the Shawshank Redemption, Saving Private Ryan. I could go on and on, but my point is that they all lack what I’m sure your definition of “compassion” is. In fact the things that guys like make real life slaughter houses look like Beverly Hills day care spas, so shut your bloody trap. (ha ha ha, bloody trap, my double meanings are endless today! Fuck you small woodland creatures!)

3. The meat industry is destroying the Earth. The only thing that’s hot about the meat industry is that it’s toasting the planet. According to the United Nations, raising animals for food causes more greenhouse-gas emissions than all the cars, trucks, SUVs, planes, and ships in the world combined.

News flash bitch, global warming is a total scam. It’s a fucking myth promoted by ass holes just like you with a slightly different agenda. Sea levels rising, melt ice in a glass and see if it overflows. Global temperature linked to so called green house gasses? More like the cycle of the fuckin sun dipshit. Plants on Antarctica, ice age, natural cycles predating mankind, greenhouse gasses FOLLOWING not preceding a global warming? Ringing any bells? I’m not even going to bother linking to the seemingly boundless resources of information about this, because frankly if you haven’t looked up some of the arguments against it by now, you don’t really want to be informed anyway. The only source of hot air I want shut down is the freaks down at PETA.

4. Meat will make you fat. All the saturated fat and cholesterol in chicken wings, pork chops, and steak eventually leads to flabby thighs and love handles. I hope the upcoming “Jessica Simpson’s Intimates” line comes in plus sizes! Going vegetarian is the best way to get slim and stay that way.

Why didn’t you go with the logic from your second point here Ms. Peta? Isn’t being a non fatass fatty the norm for sexy in Hollywood? It seems like this would have been a good time to bring that up. (except that Hollywood skinny is also known as disgusting and skeleton like) But wait, those freakish twigs don’t stay skinny with vegetables do they? No more like fingers, I guess that doesn’t fit into your propaganda does it?

I’m sorry, but this is so clearly bull shit that it’s almost retarded to respond, but since I thrive on quasi-tard material, why the hell not? What causes obesity class? (children in unison) “Eating too much and sitting on your lazy ass writing blogs.” Very good children, and what is the best way to get slim and stay that way? (children in unison) “Eating less and getting off your fat ass to work out!” Very good class, now let’s have some snacks and take nap time.

5. Eating meat steals food from starving kids. Jessica’s trip to help kids in Africa got a lot of media buzz, but by gnawing on meat, she’s essentially stealing food from the mouths of starving children since it takes up to 16 pounds of grain to produce just 1 pound of meat. If more people went vegetarian, we’d free up enough grain to feed every person in the world.

Wow, just wow. You had to play the starving children in Africa card didn’t you? Well guess what? FUCK YOU! I’m not only going to eat my fucking meat because it’s my god damned right to do so, but I’m gonna eat half a pound of it, give the other half to my brothers dogs, and then buy sixteen pounds of grain and flush them down the drain just to piss you off. You pretentious bitch, if you actually gave a starving rats ass about starving kids in Africa, you wouldn’t be dedicating your life to protecting a bunch of fucking animals. Instead you might get off your high horse, pull your head out of your ass, and wrangle up some fucking funds to help take care of real human people instead. But that’s not going to happen, because you feel perfectly justified in your delusional little PETA bubble promoting email chains about ducklings getting their beaks chopped off and piglets getting their tails snipped off that you have completely lost all sight of the reason all that shit happens in the first place. It’s so that fucking sane people who don’t support your shitty organization can feed their families GOOD food that’s fucking HEALTHY and GOD DAMNED DELICIOUS. So frankly Christine, you and the rest of your ass hole buddies can go chew on some bark and fuck off in the forest for all I care. And the kids in Africa can read your blog and feel lucky that without all our grain they can stay beautiful and slender just like the girls in Hollywood. I for one loved Jessica’s shirt and I just so happen to agree with it.

Especially since it was clearly a euphamism for sucking dick.

“Fishing” on Topsail Island

Well me and my buddies from work decided we needed to take a guys trip out to the beach to go fishing. We planned it for two months, got everything set up, and before you knew it the day had come to get ready. My good buddy Kenny who had taken me fishing on the Neuse river a little while ago (here) would be driving us, but since he’s married with children now, we couldn’t drink at his house. Everyone else decided that was lame as shit, so we all went out to my boss’s trailer in Smithfield. For those of you not familiar with the Johnston county area, that’s what you might call the ass end of nowhere.

I had driven my scooter to work that morning with one hand, carrying my biggest cooler in my left hand out to my side the whole way, cause I hadn’t really planned any better way to get a giant cooler to work on a scooter. That worked out well for me though cause all I had to tote out to the country on my death machine that evening was a folding chair, a case of beer, and a bag of clothes and supplies for the weekend. (which still left me looking a lot like a pack mule)

Now you have to understand, the ride from Garner to the back side of Smithfield on a scooter that only goes 30-35 mph is a long, bumpy, and hazardous one. The winding country roads, especially on a Friday afternoon, are filled with angry, potential drunk rednecks in a big hurry to get home and have fun. (it’s a fun county) But this means I have to straddle the side of the road for dear life the whole way there. Often I found myself attempting to ride the six inches between the painted line and the edge of the pavement, my feet being rhythmicly slapped by the tall grass, occasionally dodging stray tree limbs and dead possums. But with the prize of a weekend of booze and bars, bikinis and surf, I kept on the hour long ride until I found myself barreling down a rutted dirt path winding between trailers and a pond, and finally pulled up to Drew’s house.

Now Lee, the oldest guy on the trip, was already well lit, and was polishing off his first twelve pack of the evening. I got to meet Drew’s retarded brother, his little baby grandchild, and a fair number of his woman’s family, who were visiting from West Virginia. Let me tell you, those are some wide open broads, cause every one from the youngest who was about my age, all the way up to the ancient grandmother who had to be pushin seventy five, all cussed like sailors, had filthy minds, and actually had more sass and attitude than I do. Let me assure you it is very rare to find one, let alone four or five women, who can give my motor mouth and vulgarity a run for it’s money, but these kick ass bitches left me in the dust wondering what had just happened. But I will tell you more about them some other time. They invited me out to their family reunion to meet the whole clan, so hopefully I’ll have some really badass stories to share with you then.

But two cases of beer later, Lee, Drew, and myself were all drunk as hell and hit the sack around midnight or so. Dark and early at four fifteen Kenny came a knockin’ on the door, wraslin’ us all out of our deep sleeps, and we packed up his truck, loaded in, and hit the highways headed for Topsail Island. Of course Lee and Drew, the old men, wanted to go back to sleep, and Kenny and I were ready to party like it was 1999! So he threw on some old David Allen Co. and some Johnny Rebel and blasted it as loud as it would go until they finally woke up about half way there.

We got to the Jolly Roger Hotel and Pier around six thirty, before the sun was up yet, and we couldn’t check in till around noon, so we packed our crap in the cab and hit the pier for some good old fashioned Man vs Nature. Beer’s were cracked, lines were cast, and we settled in for the less intense part of the trip. A front was moving in so we didn’t get much sun, but the wind whipped the ocean spray up past us and the smells of a thousand fish and fish ghosts wafted in the breeze.

Lee onthe left, Drew on the right (with his queer juice)
Lee on the left, Drew on the right (with his queer juice)
The Jolly Roger pier just before dawn.

The Jolly Roger pier just before dawn.

I rock so hard it hurts. Also, I didnt realize that glow in the dark skeletons shirts were not as cool as camo when you are fishing. My bad.

I rock so hard it hurts. Also, I didn't realize that glow in the dark skeletons shirts were not as cool as camo when you are fishing. My bad. Apparently real fisherman wear camo shirts and hats to hide from the fish.

Well it turns out there are not only no fish in the ocean, but there are also hardly any women on the beach. It was rather disappointing. Later that evening as I was laying in the motel bed I described it, “that was fishing kind of like this is getting laid. I was in the right place but nothing was going on.” In fact, there were hardly any seagulls either. In fact I see more seagulls in the Walmart parking lot on a regular basis than there were on that beach. Bad bad Leroy Brown caught the biggest fish of the day.

Were gonna need a smaller boat.

We're gonna need a smaller boat.

Under the pier, Topsail, NC.

Under the pier, Topsail, NC.

So drew and I ended up getting wicked hungover, and took a nap while Kenny fished and Lee drank. But we all woke up around seven to go out drinking for real this time. It’s kind of weird meeting your girlfriend on your blog because it kind of makes you edit your stories so as not to get in trouble. But this was an especially wild night and I think it needs to be told. (Don’t be mad baby, I can’t help it that I attract fun) There was a little grill and bar across the road, which also happened to be the only bar on the island. We had stopped in for some lunch because the sign said they had the best pizza on the island. Surprisingly they sure did, it was some of the best food I have ever slid down my gullet. I had some pizza and later a steak and cheese sub, and both were incredible.

So we rolled up in the bar side of this joint to check it out. There were two pool tables, a jukebok, two tables and a bar. It was a fairly typical ocean side dive bar. No AC, no fans, just a bunch of open windows around a dimly lit room full of smoke with a few sad looking old people hanging around as if waiting for Jesus to take them, and a crabby, overweight, college age bartender. The sign on the door said it was raggae night, but at the moment it was library-in-the-vatican quiet in there. That immediately went as soon as we walked in.

Now you know me, I get a little wild from time to time, as evidenced by my legal record. Well Kenny and Drew both worked as bartenders in that honkytonk I went to. Drew and Lee are both bikers. Lee’s a crazy alcoholic who was already almost blacked out by this point. And every single one of us is looking to cause as much ruckus and mayhem as possible that night. Kenny jumps on the jukebox and throws on a bunch of Disturbed, and a variety of eighties metal. Drew grabs a pool table and racks up, and we all get started playing some pool.

Well Kenny is an amazing pool player, and Drew plays in tournaments every week, and Lee picked up at least a respectable amount of skill over his many many years on this earth, but I however suck realy bad at pool. I mean I don’t just suck a little, I suck so bad it creates a breeze in the room. I really enjoy playing pool, but I’m terrible and I know it. That’s no problem though, because they used me to make them look a little less badass, and as people started trickling slowly into this sad little bar they began fleecing them for all they were worth. Within an hour we had a table full of mixed drinks bough in lost games, and we were all well on our way to hedonistic debauchery.

With the exception of a few of the braver and younger men, everyone else in the bar was huddled as far away from our table as possible. It was almost comical. We were shouting and cheersing and singing at the top of our lungs, jumping around like wild men. We must have been the liveliest thing that has hit that town since hurrican Fran. A few hippies came in to check out the raggae, saw us, heard the metal, and promptly left.

Now by now Lee was rip roaring drunk off his ass. If he hadn’t been holding on to that table he probably would have fallen off the planet. So Kenny comes up to me and tells me, “HEY MAN, I THINK LEE HAS AN ADMIRER!” Confused I look around as to who has been paying Lee any attention. “CHECK OUT THAT OLD MAN AT THE BAR, THE ONE WEARING JIM DANGLE SHORTS. EVERY TIME LEE GOES TO DANCING HE GETS A BIG ASS SMILE ON HIS FACE AND STARTS DANCING TOO.” I broke out laughing, cause I had seen this fag sitting up there by the bar, and had found him comical enough already, but that took the cake. Well to make matters worse, a few minutes later Lee called me over. “JOSH! JOSH! COME HERE MAN. HEY, HEY … UH HEY CHECK THIS OUT MAN. I DON’T KNOW IF YOU KNOW THIS BUT THER ARE SOME DUDES WHO LIKE DUDES IN HERE MAN! NO KIDDING, I JUST HAD TWO OF THEM COME UP TO ME IN THE LAST FIFTEEN MINUTES.” To say I laughed would be an understatement. I had to go to the bathroom cause I laughed so hard. And by the way, apparently dive bars at the beach carry single ply toilet paper that is rough enough to literally cut your cornhole, so watch you self if you end up there.

Shortly before the raggae mon came out, this crazy bitch named Esch walked into the bar. Earlier at lunch she had been with her boyfriend, but now she was alone, and drunker than all hell. I saw the shark fins pop up around the bar, along to the theme of Jaws. Drew just happened to be right next to the stool she plopped down at. Now Drew may be a little rough around the edges, but that man is a huge charmer and no woman can resist him, it’s insane. Skip ahead two minutes and the wildest woman at the beach is playing pool with the wildest dudes at the beach.

I wasnt allowed to take many pictures during this part of the trip.

I wasn't allowed to take many pictures during this part of the trip.

She was on a team with Drew against me and Kenny. (cause I was apparently the closest thing to a bitch team mate for Kenny, insert my sincere laughter here) The testosterone started flowing, plenty of shit was talked, and before long, this bitch had her titties out distracting Kenny so he would stop kicking their ass. All the old people at the bar started getting pissed cause we were helping her get drunk and they all thought she was preggers. She was in fact not with child, she just had a little belly and a shirt that was poofy around the mid section, but we thought it was funny as hell. So she keeps getting wilder and wilder, and we keep thinking it’s funnier and funnier. She was (we think) pissed at her man and out to have some revenge, so she was trying her damndest to hook up with Kenny or Drew, neither one of whom wanted to bang her. They just wanted to have some fun, and didn’t give a fuck about her.

Lee on the other hand, who is 52 and single, and drunk, saw a twenty something hottie who wanted some action and began spitting his best game. In case you were wondering, his best game was horrible and offensive, but this chick was too drunk and stupid to care. Somehow it came out that one of the guys with us had a shaved dick, and at the top of her lungs Esch yelled, “drop your pants! If you shave I will suck your dick right now!” This was the second time in the evening the law was called on us. The bartender told us all to simmer down and stop making trouble. Esch started kissing random guys. I went outside to try and avoid getting arrested if they showed up again, and that was when Lee spit out this fucking gem. “Bitch, you better take four days, cause I will K. I. L. L. kill you. I won’t even bother unless you have four fucking days for me to fuck you to death.”

At this point the old women at the bar pulled the chick outside to get her away from us, and we all went back to the table to ask Lee what the fuck he was thinking exactly when he decided to communicate threats. We began gathering our shit up to leave, and Lee walked back over to Esch and the two old cock blockers with her and said, and I quote, “I’ve been with three women before, you could be the next three if you want. I’ll stick my dick in all three of your mouths!”

We dragged him out of the bar, stuck him in the hotel room, and told him if he left we would kick his ass. We hopped a taxi and headed to the next closest pair of bars. They sucked. We left and went back around closing time. Apparently the only fun to be had was in the deadest bar I’ve ever been in. We left for home the next morning and stopped for breakfast, some supplies, and then hit a tourist trap. What can I say, any building that has a giant gator on the front is cool with me.

I loves teh gatorz.

I loves teh gatorz.

I wish I knew how they made this, cause it rocks.

I wish I knew how they made this, cause it rocks.

I got a ton of things I shouldn’t have. By the time I left I had a slingshot, a pirate flag, a beer bong, two real gator heads, and a drivers liscence that says I’m Jesus. All in all a wild time was had by all, no one ended up arrested, or in the hospital, or cheated on their women, so I think it was a good trip. I’ve got some great stories about bosses being fired, upcoming halloween, and plenty of mayhem and madness, but for now I’m off to Mule Days in Benson, which is kind of like the redneck mardi gras around these parts. Tell me about your crazy stories from the beach, I’d love to hear some more.