“I couldn't live a week without a private library
- indeed, I'd part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor
before I'd let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.” ― H.P. Lovecraft

Whistling In The Graveyard: September 12, 2004

Saturday, September 18, 2004

Beach Trip: Day Eight

I awoke this morning to an unpleasant reality.

Well, in this little world I've created and live in ALL reality is fairly unpleasant, but the more-than-usual unpleasantness was the fact that this was my last day at the beach.

So that sucked.

The day itself was a good one though. I couldn't go into the ocean further than mid-shin as the freaking hurricane was bringing in some wicked surf, so we spent most of the day in the pool and the hot tub watching birds fly by sideways.

It was the damndest thing.

They were pointed one way, flapping to beat all hell, but they were going straight left.

And we weren't even on anything.

I double checked.

Anyways, Tomorrow (or later today rather), we head for Brian's place in Harrisonburg Virginia where I'll spend a fun-filled week telling his roommates and co-workers embarrasing stories from when we were in high school.

After that I'm sure I'll have to return to that festering hellpit I call home, but I'll carry with me some fond memories.

The mile-long ethnic slur called "Pedro Land" we drove through on the way here. Really, you have no idea. It's a crime that this place isn't fully doumented in pictures online somewhere.

Don't worry, I'll try to get pictures on the drive back.

There was the hot Jamacian grandmother. I'd like to take her out for a night of passionate lovemaking after which we'd lay under the stars and watch that old Jamacian moon.

Why that old Jamacian would be mooning us I have no idea.

There was the time I faked drowning so I could get mouth to mouth from the cute lifeguard.

Boy, was that guy pissed.

I was aiming for the cute blonde girl. Sometimes you roll the dice, sometimes you crap out.

And I can't forget the Ron Jon's restaurant we ordered takeout from. The food was mediocre and overpriced, the service sucked, but what made them memorable was the fact that they had cigarettes on the menu.

That's right, you could order CIGARETTES on the takeout menu.

I think that's the surest sign we could have asked for that we were in the south. However, to prove we were still in America, the fucking menu had the fucking SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING ON IT.

So that's it for now. I'll post more from Brian's place tomorrow.

Friday, September 17, 2004

Beach Trip: Day Seven

It was pretty damn hard to crawl out of bed today.

I guess those margaritas were a little stronger than I thought.

Damn Jimmy Buffet.

Of course it might also be a contributing factor that I've done more shit this week doing nothing than I do in a month back home doing nothing.

Not that I'm complaining mind you.

Quite the contrary.

There's a reason why I've written about nothing but going to the beach and going out to eat this week. It's because that's all we've fucking done.

And it's been kicking our asses.

Of course, we're the idiots that keep going out in the ocean with a fucking hurricane coming.

And not just any hurricane; hurricane Ivan. A manly sounding storm. The last hurricane was named Frances.

That's right.

Hurricane Frances.

How do you name a hurricane Frances? The very name says "Take my lunch money but don't hurt me!"

Keep your wussy-ass storm names. If it's gonna knock over all of my shit it better have a tough goddamn name.

Where's hurricane Vlad? How about Sherman? And where the fuck is hurricane Ghengis?

So between getting pounded into the sand by the waves, coming up with humorous blog posts, and hanging out in some pretty cool eateries/drinking establishments, we've done absolutely fuck-all.

I, of course, have put infinite time and study into doing nothing, (it's a subtle art), but it might be wearing on Brian. He keeps talking about "when the vacation is over" and "going back home".

If he keeps up that talk I may have to kill him.

That's no fit way for a pirate to talk.

Arrrrrghhhhh...

Thursday, September 16, 2004

Beach Trip: Day Six


Nibblin’ on sponge cake
Watchin’ the sun bake
All of those tourists covered with oil
Strummin’ my six-string
On my front porch swing
Smell those shrimp they’re beginnin’ to boil

Chorus:
Wastin’ away again in margaritaville
Searching for my lost shaker of salt
Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame
But I know it’s nobody’s fault

I don’t know the reason
I stayed here all season
Nothin’ to show but this brand new tattoo
But it’s a real beauty
A mexican cutie
How it got here I haven’t a clue

Chorus:
Wastin’ away again in margaritaville
Searchin’ for my lost shaker of salt
Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame
Now I think
Hell, it could be my fault

I blew out my flip-flop
Stepped on a pop-top
Cut my heel had to cruise on back home
But there’s booze in the blender
And soon it will render
That frozen concoction that helps me hang on

Wastin’ away again in margaritaville
Searching for my lost shaker of salt
Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame
But I know it’s my own damn fault
Yes and some people claim that there’s a woman to blame
And I know it’s my own damn fault

Song: Margaritaville
Artist: Jimmy Buffett 1977


So yeah, we went to Margaritaville tonight.

I hit the tri-fecta of Jimmy Buffet food-related items:

The Cheeseburger In Paradise.

The Strawberry Shortcake (Spongecake. It's in the song.)

And God only knows how many 'License To Chill' Margaritas.

The verdict?

The cheeseburger was pretty good, but then I'll eat damn near anything with bacon on it. I could get a bacon sandwich with a side of bacon with bacon on it and wash it down with orange juice with chunks of bacon in it.

God I'm manly.

The strawberry shortcake was Ok, but it certainly wasn't worth what I paid for it.

The margaritas were fucking great though. Of course they fucking jolly-well should be in a place called 'Margaritaville'. My only complaint was that they were a bit light in the alcohol department. I found out later that was due to South Carolina being a 'mini-bottle-law' state. Anyone that's been to say, Utah (Rich, I feel for ya buddy), knows what I'm talking about.

Anyways, between the ocean and the alcohol, I'm exhausted.

Oh, I've decided I'm not coming home. I'm gonna stay here and be a pirate.

Jimmy thinks it's a good idea.

Wednesday, September 15, 2004

Beach Trip: Day Five

Some time back I mused about how when the power goes out and you're rummaging around in the kitchen in the dark, it's hard to tell tuna apart from cat food.

Especially now that they both have pull-tabs.

Anyways, it must be a wierd mental thing of mine because today I mixed up the complimentary shampoo with the complimentary vaseline hand lotion.

Yes, my hair is baby soft and kissable and my penis has extraordinary bounce and body.

I share too much.

I found out a few things today.

First, well I guess first I learned to read fucking labels, but after that I learned firsthand what a rip-tide is like by almost getting swept out into open water.

I learned that the Hard Rock Cafe has good food, but they'll fuck you in the ass with thier prices (it was still way cool though, I mean, come on, it's a freaking pyramyd for fuck's sake).

And I learned that my trip will take a little longer than I'd originally planned. Looks like I'll be at Brian's place after we leave here from the 18th to the 25th.

I'll keep you posted.

Tuesday, September 14, 2004

Beach Trip: Day Four

It was overcast today, but still warm. As there was little sun I decided to go sans-sunblock (that's WITHOUT sunblock, Rich) and I still got burned more than before.

Fucking sun.

Went to my first IHOP today. Yes, I know I'm deprived.

Then we went back to the room where I went out like a bear with a tranquilizer dart in it's ass.

After my nap I put on my trunks and headed out.

The ocean was too rough to really go out today, so we messed around the pool for a while.

Then we went out looking for a video game store Brian saw in the travel guide. Within minutes we were lost.

It's allways been my opinion that you don't really know where you are till you get good and lost a few times.

By that logic we're getting to know this place pretty fucking well.

It's not our fault though. You try navigating in a place that has this many mini golf courses and pancake restaurants. To further complicate matters, all of the mini golf is pirate themed and all of the pancake places try to look like IHOP.

But we didn't really give a damn.

Our only agenda is to have no agenda.

Speaking of which, we were going to go out to the Hard Rock or Club Kryptonite tonight but ended up just collapsing in the room and ordering pizza.

I'm sure we'll do something exciting tomorrow.

Monday, September 13, 2004

Beach Trip: Day Three

Not a lot to report really. Spent most of the day on the beach. Despite having worn 60+ sunblock I seem to be burned.

Sunblock that's basically fucking house paint, and I still got burned.

Go figure.

Also, we went to a Planet Hollywood where I was very close to an actual piece of the original Death Star.

I'm still erect.

We got a bunch of pictures of the beach and the restaurant and Club Kryptonite (but none of my Star-Wars induced erection) that I'll try to have online somewhere for you to see in the next few days.

More later. Need sleep.

Sunday, September 12, 2004

Beach Trip: Day Two

Vacations are a lot like frontal lobotomies; you never know how much you need one till you get it.

Damn, I need to write bumper stickers.

We got up about noon today, went downstairs and were immediately snagged by time share people.

Since they offered us $70 to listen to thier pitch we went to the resort. The place was damn nice too. If I had money falling out of my ass I'd have signed up. Our tour was given by a really hot Jamacian woman. Durring the course of the conversation she mentioned that she was a grandmother, which made her a G.I.L.F. in my book. Serriously, she didn't look a day over 30. Of course, like Chris Rock said; "If a woman looks 26 and says she's 26, she's damn near 40".

She never mentioned how old she was (women usually don't reveal that without bamboo shoots under the fingernails) but I think Rock's advice holds up here.

She was really hot.

So we slipped the noose and came out $70 richer, but I didn't get any sweet, Jamacian, grandmother action.

I knew I should have gotten a picture. Without one even I think I sound like a sicko.

When we got back to the hotel we hit the beach. It was overcast and the water was still pretty rough. We couldn't go out very far without getting knocked down, but it was still great. Perhaps hurricane season wasn't the best time for a vacation, but it was pretty cheap and we don't have to deal with too many people.

As I've stated many times, if you're reading this, you can take for granted that you're probably in my cool book, but humanity in general is really pissing me the hell off lately.

Especially my neighbors, which is part of why I'm on this trip.

Later we went out looking for a place to eat and drove through what looked like a giant carnival that had gone on too long. A string of arcades and junk shops about a mile long, filled with hot women, rough looking guys and harleys.

We'll likely go check it out tomorrow. I noticed a few of them had swords and god knows there's allways room for one more in my living room.

It took some looking, but we finally found a really good seafood restaraunt (Really? Seafood? Near the ocean you say?) called 'Hook's'. I nearly choked when I found out it cost $19 for the buffet. It was worth it though.

You know, if someone told me I could never go home, I don't think I'd be too broken up right now.

Oh, for those of you that might be in the area, we're at the Four Points Sheraton on South Ocean Blvd, room 314.

BYOB-ASAP.

Oh yeah, I guess today was 9/11. At the risk of sounding like a total prick, I'll think about that later.