WOAH.
so aside from having to work now, the weekend was ridiculous.
goderich and grand bend are awesome fun.
prologue: pluckin’ fest is a festival where little kids go around beating chickens or each other with chickens.
then they bbq anyone or anything that doesn’t make it.
ie. like in 300 where all the weak pathetic gimpy babies get thrown down the well, all the sissy nancy boy kids and chickens get their shit bbq’d and fed to keep the strong even stronger.
darwin is giggling in his grave.
mikes ass made me appreciate the finer things in life, cuz im not sure how much time he knocked off my life with those potent bombs.
the beach had sand, and a ton of babes so i played the waving game. where i wave at girls and see if they wave back. over the course of the weekend i went 0 for 17. one girl smiled, and i had a dude give me the head nod.
i feel sorry for myself, unfortunately no one else really gave a shit.
then WHAMMY some girl in a civic in mississauga waved at me, and i almost made mike veer into her car causing an accident. this would have prompted me to talk to her some more, and potentially ruin her car, thus giving her no choice but to hitchhike after we drove off.
ruthless, yet oh so cunning.
we hit up Coco’s aka the MGM Grand of the Grand Bend strip, and chatted up some waitresses. they were pleasant… till we stopped drinking.
most of the time i kept wondering what it would be like if i was a girl and i was getting handblasted by a dwarf.
pretty interesting concept, since dwarf’s have really tiny mitts, and i’d have a super tight womanly love cave. i do serious lawn maintenence, if you know what i mean.
we interrupt for breaking news: no, i did not get sand in any wrong places. surprised? same here. usually my ass crevice looks a lot like the grand canyon after a day at the beach; you know… all dusty and gaping, warm, and full of animals.
friday night involved some badass wings and mike’s dad infoming us that we got the bushpig of the restaurant serving us. it was sweet how he knew the names of all the hot ones, but the name of our waitress eluded him, like a mystery. he has possibly some of the best stories i’ve ever heard. im a fan.
after dinner we went and watched some fireworks, and i was in a pretty darryl mood, and all i talked about was beating up little kids to display how manly i am. ironic to think back on it since beating up kids only shows how funny little kids are when they are flying thru the air and crying for their mommy and such, but in no way is there any manliness, more cowardice. oh well, i need lunch money and they need to learn to suck it up after a beat down.
plus there was some asshole with flashy things walking around conning people out of their money. it was sad to watch, and yet slowly but surely i was drawn to his wares, and wanted to purchase some. i was soon told that only 5 year olds like such things. that hurt, since im pretty childish myself.
oh yeah, telephone road, and paul bunyan road. opposite ends of the spectrum for best and worst street names in history.
paul bunyan shaves with a huge axe and smells like pine trees cuz he chops them down and builds shit with them like lincoln logs. oh, and instead of a horse, he has an ox named blue. blue is also the name of my teddy, so you know its gotta be insanely amazing. my blue smells like years of dust and sweat and love, cuz thats what i’ve given him over the years. we have long talks, and he knows all my deepest secrets. yeah, thats trust.
on the way back we stopped at mcdonalds. it wasn’t bad mainly cuz i was eye plowing the girl at the end of the counter, and it turns out i didn’t even hear the girl asking to take my order. i wasn’t embarassed, cuz i was clearly occupied, and she was rudely interrupting.
*sigh*
anyways, there’s this girl i’ve been noticing and i wanted to inform her that my penis is the atomic bomb,and her vagina is hiroshima. yes, it would be sexual devastation. but unlike ww2, it wouldn’t end there and require 40 years of recovery time.
im really shitty at throwing fireworks. i nearly burned a tree down and exploded a diesel fuel pump holder thing. im banned from anything firework related, unless its purchasing of them.
brubbs and i just discussed how stapling a dome to a babes desk is a good way of letting her know that you want to be in her, and potentially let her be the breeding ground for future generations of your awesome manliness. nothing says i love making babies than a dome stapled to some TPS reports.
it was awesome, i ALMOST made $25, 000 dollars the other day. the Toronto Zoo reported missing a baby gorilla and offered a reward for its return or info leading to its return. well, i found that gorilla and brought it back, but was told that i’d only found a really ugly woman. as a consolation, they gave me coupons for the zoo next time i go. im pretty stoked, i live for the rhinos and the pygmy hippo. so lazy and fat, im envious yet proud.
what a mess this is.