Life's Not Really A Beach!

So…

We were hanging out and I was, when you really think about it, up in the sky with birds. Then my pal comes over and says there’s some kick-ass plan. Depending on your expectations in life, “kick ass” can refer to anything ranging from poking little toddlers to going out and getting wasted at a grad party with decent looking folk… it rarely takes into account The Beach. In my inebriated state it actually sounded good…

When I woke up with no trace of a hangover, I still had traces of “beach-proggie” on the brain so I called up my pal to confirm that it was not something I’d seen on the notice boards over at cloud 9. It was really going to happen and the fact that I was fresh from getting my toe worked on in an entirely non-metrosexual way was not going to get in the way of this KICK ASS idea.

The ride to the beach was nothing out of the ordinary. The road continued to move under the car as its been known to since some guy called Henry Ford put a couple of bolts together with circular things and said he’d call it an Automobile once he found some place to sit.

When we finally got to the beach, I realized that my attempts at bringing back the whole hat to the back fashion blunder made back in the day was futile. There was a bunch of guys who were already doing it and totally pushing it back to the brink of extinction.

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We got hungry, and…wonder of wonders…asked for fish. It kind of made sense. How often have you gone out, asked for, oh, I don’t know, PORK and the duration it takes to get to you suggests that the waiter was tasked with going to some farm, sending Babe off to meet his maker and then gutting the bastard while following some 230page manual page to page (wow! Three instances of the word page!!) on how to roast pig, then finally delivering it across town to you. This time round, I found Nemo.

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