Avoid the Southern New Jersey Beaches at All Costs Part 5
You can play ketchup here .We take leave of the Promenade. As we’re rushin’ the hell out, I of course parade the family in front of the community college douche bag. As kinda of a fuck you, you stupid fuck gesture. I’m sure he couldn’t of cared less. I’m sure he was just too busy counting all the pennies he was going to get bein’ a Lead at his local McDonalds. Where else do folks who go to community college work? No offense to McDonalds, of course.
Once we leave the sanctuary of the Promenade, for the wilds of the boardwalk, the missus and I quickly realize there’s no place to eat. Great! All the benches were being used, any place legitimate place to sit was bein’ used by teenaged love birds. We eventually found an open spot on other side of the boardwalk. And by open spot, I mean sitting on directly on the boards. But, hunger is hunger, so we break into the pizza. All at once, the seagulls start dive bombing. I seriously despise seagulls. I…uhhh. Not yet. I’ll get into that soon enough. But for the third time that night, we had to move again. We head down another few blocks and come across and empty bench. An empty bench! Holy shit. So, once again we break on the pizza. This time, I stood as protection from the gulls as the rest of the family huddled together like gypsies run out of Nazi Germany. Every once in awhile, a gull would buzz by. I would swing at it to shoo it away. And by “shoo” I mean swing my fist at it. Of all times to be away from my beatin’ stick. In between attacks from the Kamikaze gulls, I managed to shove as many slice of pizza down my gullet. Believe you me, there was absolutely no pleasure in it. It was all mechanical. It was worse than nailin’ a stoned, bored hooker.
After our delicious meal, I was ready to pack up and head home. Not our “vacation” home, but our real home. I guess everyone else has higher tolerances of pain than I do, cause not only did they want to stay, but they wanted to go back to Wastaway Cove. This vacation was turnin’ into a real whiz-banger. It probably rivals vacations to Hedonism or Vegas.
But, instead of Hedonism, we had back to Wastaway Cove. And unlike the our first day there , it was packed to the gills. The fun times we were to have. There’s nothin’ like navigatin’ your way through a crowd of kids, strollers and angry adults. Even the missus, who gets along with anyone, had an altercation with a gal waitin’ in line.
Which I’ll tell you about tomorrow. Ha! Stupid idiot! I teased you real good. The only thing worse than a stoned, bored hooker is a dick tease. And I just teased your dick real nice. Ummmm...Ya'know. I don't think I like where this train of thought is headin. So, I'm just gonna hit the return key and pretend I never said anything about teasin' anybody's junk. Sound about right?
Yea, I know you're disappointed by the lack of substance lately. But, consider this for a moment...I’m tired. I've got four kids. How many you got? Two? Pussy. Only real men have...well, forget about real men. SMART men don't have any kids. And even smarter men don't get married. But that's a show for another day. In the meantime, if you don’t like it, you can always click on next blog. Then go fuck yourself.
Once we leave the sanctuary of the Promenade, for the wilds of the boardwalk, the missus and I quickly realize there’s no place to eat. Great! All the benches were being used, any place legitimate place to sit was bein’ used by teenaged love birds. We eventually found an open spot on other side of the boardwalk. And by open spot, I mean sitting on directly on the boards. But, hunger is hunger, so we break into the pizza. All at once, the seagulls start dive bombing. I seriously despise seagulls. I…uhhh. Not yet. I’ll get into that soon enough. But for the third time that night, we had to move again. We head down another few blocks and come across and empty bench. An empty bench! Holy shit. So, once again we break on the pizza. This time, I stood as protection from the gulls as the rest of the family huddled together like gypsies run out of Nazi Germany. Every once in awhile, a gull would buzz by. I would swing at it to shoo it away. And by “shoo” I mean swing my fist at it. Of all times to be away from my beatin’ stick. In between attacks from the Kamikaze gulls, I managed to shove as many slice of pizza down my gullet. Believe you me, there was absolutely no pleasure in it. It was all mechanical. It was worse than nailin’ a stoned, bored hooker.
After our delicious meal, I was ready to pack up and head home. Not our “vacation” home, but our real home. I guess everyone else has higher tolerances of pain than I do, cause not only did they want to stay, but they wanted to go back to Wastaway Cove. This vacation was turnin’ into a real whiz-banger. It probably rivals vacations to Hedonism or Vegas.
But, instead of Hedonism, we had back to Wastaway Cove. And unlike the our first day there , it was packed to the gills. The fun times we were to have. There’s nothin’ like navigatin’ your way through a crowd of kids, strollers and angry adults. Even the missus, who gets along with anyone, had an altercation with a gal waitin’ in line.
Which I’ll tell you about tomorrow. Ha! Stupid idiot! I teased you real good. The only thing worse than a stoned, bored hooker is a dick tease. And I just teased your dick real nice. Ummmm...Ya'know. I don't think I like where this train of thought is headin. So, I'm just gonna hit the return key and pretend I never said anything about teasin' anybody's junk. Sound about right?
Yea, I know you're disappointed by the lack of substance lately. But, consider this for a moment...I’m tired. I've got four kids. How many you got? Two? Pussy. Only real men have...well, forget about real men. SMART men don't have any kids. And even smarter men don't get married. But that's a show for another day. In the meantime, if you don’t like it, you can always click on next blog. Then go fuck yourself.
posted by the Juice at 10:34 PM
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