Spring Break: Day Three: Us Against The Man
We woke up this morning at about 11. It was a good night’s sleep. Zachar apparently talked in his sleep last night. About greyhounds.
Our first mission was to get food. We went to the Denny’s across the street and liked it. Next, we went to Wal-Mart and bought a massive amount of food, as well as an electric George Foreman-type grill. This is the only way we can make our own food, it turns out, because grills are not allowed in the hotel or on the beach. We also got a bunch of hamburgers and brats. We also bought beer. Beer is also not allowed on the beach. Motherfuckers.
Then we went and hung out on the beach for a while. The temperature of the water is perfect. The only down side is that there are apparently man eating creatures in the water called “man-o-wars.” These 2-inch diameter creatures apparently sting, and their sting is as painful as bee stings. We have no choice but to battle against these monsters from the deep and enjoy our vacation.
Now we’re waiting to make dinner. We’re waiting for towels. Apparently, when they came and took our old towels, they didn’t bother to leave new towels. So, we called the front desk and asked for more towels. The problem, we were told, is that there’s only one fucking washing machine for the whole hotel, and the towels are currently in that machine. Well, at least that explains the stains on the blankets. In any event, we can’t start cooking because the hotel staff can’t know we’re cooking for ourselves. God, I hate the hotel staff. We’re watching The Chronicles of Riddick while we wait. It’s even worse the second time around.
Soon, we’ll have dinner and we’ll make a liquor run. We didn’t buy liquor earlier because this is one of those fucking states where all liquor must be sold in a liquor store. Just more of The Man trying to keep us down. But we will overcome.
4:38 am: Miami Beach and “Boy, is Our Country Fucked”
“If this is a representative sample of America’s whore’s, we’re fucked. Or sucked.” - Ryan
The liquor run has been accomplished. We started playing king’s cup, and Zachar took the brunt of it. Still, none of us were wickedly wasted before we left here to go to the bars. In any event, we played two rounds, it was fun. Then we went down to Miami Beach. It was sort of an interesting experience. Douchebags as far as the eye could see. A lot like home, except for the beautiful women, $5.50 Bud Lights and the ocean. But the douchebags never go; they just keep douchebaggin’ along. It’s nice to have something constant in your life.
We started out at some Irish bar that only had one kind Irish beer. That was strange. The girls were super hot, though. We then proceeded to a bar called “Wet Willie’s.” The bar’s gimmick was that all the drinks it offered were slushies. It offered no drinks that weren’t some sort of blended thing. I got a drink called a “Call-a-cab.” It was $10, and it was the strongest drink I’ve ever had. Still, I was unable to get wickedly plastered. Strange.
Zachar drinking a drink at Wet Willie's. The drink was, apparently, too strong for him, so he stopped drinking it. Pussy.
I know Cole looks disgruntled or... something. But, I swear he was having a good time.
Ryan made no complaints about the strengths of the drinks, leading me to believe that Zachar really is just a pussy.
I liked the drinks a lot. Here I am, drinking a Call-a-cab. And it was damned good.
One of the many Ferraris we saw in Miami. This one we saw from the balcony at Wet Willie's. You could feel the cool ocrean breeze and look at beautiful girls. It was one of my favorite spots in Miami.
One of the best things that’s ever happened to me happened at Wet Willie’s. I was in the bathroom. The bathroom is a little room with no door on the lock. When I was done, I opened the door and accidentally smashed a girl in the face with it. The door literally smacked this girl in her face. She was all flustered and shit. I noticed that there was another (attractive) girl to my right, waiting for the lady’s room. I was immediately filled with horror and remorse. Remorse because I hit a girl in the face with the door. Horror because I did it in front of a girl who now, undoubtedly, thought I was an asshole. The girl I hit with the door pretty much ran away – I continued to be shocked. I walked slowly towards the girl waiting for the bathroom. Then, she said to me: “You fucking smacked that bitch!!!” Immediately, I thought this girl was awesome. Then she laughed. Then, the coolest thing ever happened: she high fived me. She fucking high-fived me for hitting a girl in the face with the door. Man, that girl was awesome. Later, at the end of the night, we ran into each other again, just as I was telling my story to my cohorts and she was telling the story to hers. We corroborated for each other, and went our separate ways. I guess that’s just another hot girl I won’t ever see naked. Oh well, I’m used to the feeling.
Then, we decided to go back to the car. Ryan was in the lead, and got separated from us at a stoplight. When the rest of us crossed, Ryan was being propositioned by a short black woman (I use the phrase “woman” loosely. It might have been a man). Later, we would learn that the following exchange had taken place:Ryan: I’m just waiting for my friends, I’m gonna go.
Whore: Are your friend’s gonna suck your cock tonight?
Ryan: I’m leaving.
The strange thing is that I tried to get this woman the fuck out of Ryan’s way. However, when I touched her shoulders to move her, she was incredulous and shouted that I wasn’t allowed to touch her. So, apparently, she was willing to proposition Ryan but I was not allowed to so much as touch her. Whatever. Whore.
Eventually, we decided to come home. On I-95, we started “road flirting” with another Xterra. It had two attractive ladies in it and it was a newer model. We passed them, then they passed us, then we passed them. I rolled down my window and gave them a look, the girls laughed and made clear flirting gestures. Ufortunately, our exit came before theirs. Oh well. If you’re out there, 2002+ Xterra, give us a call... we’re staying at the Monaco.
Upon our return to the lovely Monaco (and by lovely, I mean absolutely shitty – we had to park in front of a dumpster) we took a few beers with us (fuck the law) down to the beach and started talking about American presidents.
Earlier, at Wet Willie’s, we noticed a satellite in orbit. That got me thinking: how is it that humanity can make something and then put it in geosynchronous Earth orbit, but we can’t feed the 6.5 billion people we’ve got down here? I guess the answer is that there are many different things to take into consideration in those two goals. Still, I wonder: Josiah Bartlett is a great president, but he’s not real. Could someone like that ever get elected? And if a great president couldn’t get elected, what the fuck does that say about America? As I’ve noted before, my love for this country was almost unlimited before Bush. Now, however, I have doubts. Does that matter? In the grand scheme of things, does any human emotion matter... let alone mine?
We sat on the beach and drank beers and contemplated and talked. A good time was had by all, I think. And, so, day three came to an end.
Tomorrow, more covert cooking, shuffleboard, and Bloody Marries in the morning.
