Talkin' Shit About A Pretty Sunset

I just spent five days on a sailing mancation on the Chesapeake Bay.

Six guys on a wind and whiskey-powered vessel ventured into empty marshes where we fought snakes with nets, into the open sea where we struggled against high winds and waves, and finally into a shitty fishing bar where we battled rednecks arm to arm.

I had been going to the gym for months to be able to beat my entire crew in arm wrestling but -- blame it on my naturally wiry frame -- I could not conquer a single person.

Jason's biceps shattered the egos of all our mancation participants and our vein-popping arms and knuckles were easily laid to rest face down on the table.

And the rest of the crew gained a new respect for Jason -- an admiration that brought us to brag out loud about his arm wrestling abilities to a drunken group of rednecks at a bar, challenging them to an elbows-on-table duel -- our strongest versus their strongest.

The challenge was met by a forklift operator from central PA whose crew (on their own mancation) claimed that he could beat anyone.

Fuck that. We knew Jason could put this sad old fucker down quick. Maybe even sober him up a little.

As the battle began, the bar had let out and us guys were on the porch drinking. It was 2:30 AM. Everyone's hammered. And in the middle of this, Jason and this old redneck fucker are knelt down, hands clenched together, elbows on the table, surrounded by about 10 dudes -- five chanting for one side, five for the other.

It was tense, to say the least.

The first arm wrestle ended with a disqualification because Jason accidentally lifted his elbow off the table for leverage -- a big no-no in the International Rulebook of Mancation Arm Wrestling.

The battle had been pretty heated, so right afterwards we all sat back down to relax and smoke cigarettes. Casual conversation resumed, but Jason was uncharacteristically quiet, pensively smoking his cigarette, enjoying his 2AM drunkenness.

But after a few minutes, out of nowhere, Jason broke his silence and slowly and deliberately addressed the nasty ole redneck he'd just been disqualified from competing against. What Jason said next made the entire group -- 10 drunk-as-fuck dudes -- pause for a split second, then jump up, shouting and flailing toward each other.

Blowing cigarette smoke into the June air, Jason's slurred voice said to the old redneck:

"I could tell your right arm was stronger than your left -- must be from jerking yer two-inch DICK too much."

OH, GOD DAMN.

After the resulting shouting subsided, the two groups decided the only way to bury Jason's comment was to have a second duel. We brought both parties back to the table, much the same as before: two guys battling, poised on the table, and 10 dudes shouting aggressive encouragement or taunts into their faces.

But this time Jason didn't lift his elbow, was not disqualified, and clearly put the old redneck's arm where it belonged -- knuckles to table. But that's not how their mancation crew had observed it; they immediately began shouting that Jason had cheated a second time, and we began shouting to the contrary.

A bar brawl was brewing between the two groups of drunks, and as the Captain of the ship, I made the decision to get everyone the fuck out of the bar ASAP. I began shoving my guys out, tripping and dropping cigarette ash and drinks the whole way through the door and back to our rental house.

And my actions prevented a full scale bar brawl. Arm wrestling is part and parcel of any good mancation but I didn't want to start a bloodbath in a bar that we'd like to return to next year. So my crew stayed safe that night. Sometimes I make good decisions, I suppose.

Here's the photographic evidence:

Jason (right), beating members of our crew:


Jason (right), beating more members of our crew:


Jason (right), and the old redneck fucker:


Jason (right), beating the old redneck fucker for the first time (notice that Jase is still holding his drink):


Jason (right), beating the old redneck fucker for the SECOND time: