Latest
- My Dogs Were Fashion Models for NPR
- Even the most skeptical view has Obama winning at ...
- My wife will still be hot when she's over 60. Yess...
- The biggest admirers of my beagles are old black men.
- Minor Threat, I Don't Wanna Hear It.
- Donkey Liver and an Old Marxist
- Sara Palin's town is smaller than some DUMPS I've ...
- Talkin' Shit About A Pretty Sunset: An Inward-Look...
- To Borneo in October!
- Republican pundits are lying hypocrites and I hate...
Best of
Archives
- July 2004
- November 2004
- December 2004
- January 2005
- February 2005
- March 2005
- April 2005
- May 2005
- June 2005
- July 2005
- August 2005
- September 2005
- October 2005
- November 2005
- December 2005
- January 2006
- February 2006
- March 2006
- April 2006
- May 2006
- June 2006
- July 2006
- August 2006
- September 2006
- October 2006
- November 2006
- December 2006
- January 2007
- February 2007
- March 2007
- April 2007
- May 2007
- June 2007
- July 2007
- August 2007
- September 2007
- October 2007
- November 2007
- December 2007
- January 2008
- February 2008
- March 2008
- April 2008
- May 2008
- June 2008
- July 2008
- August 2008
- September 2008
- October 2008
- November 2008
- December 2008
- January 2009
- February 2009
- March 2009
- April 2009
- May 2009
- June 2009
- July 2009
- August 2009
- September 2009
- October 2009
- November 2009
- December 2009
- January 2010
- February 2010
- March 2010
- April 2010
- June 2010
- July 2010
- September 2010
- October 2010
- November 2010
- December 2010
- January 2011
- February 2011
- March 2011
- June 2011
- July 2011
- August 2011
- September 2011
- November 2011
- July 2012
- October 2012
Blanketing opinions that I'll probably regret soon.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Wrightsville Beach Tomorrow, and Possible Shark-Throwing Fun?
Damn, I've got so much to write about but it all includes too many curse words, my non-stop farting causing social problems; watching porno with two women; an embarrassing rock-rap band whose album I bought recently; my amped-up anti-religious fervor; a bit more drinking than I'm proud of (who, me?); tepid support for the American terrorist Bill Ayers; realizing I'm not as good a sailor as I thought; the early onset of my Fall blues; the time I threw a live shark at one of my drunk friends; and tomorrow's trip to the most beautiful beach house I've ever seen.
I can't write about 90% of that crap because --- how you say --- my "readership has changed" and I can't "offend" people. Call me a pussy for not elaborating, but I'll just give the details of those last bits on the shark and this vacation home --- safe subjects.
Last year at this time, I visited the Most Amazing Beach House of My Life in Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina --- Jim's brother's beachfront house. I wrote a tad bit here about that experience. The place was populated with my hot wife, a Springsteen-loving dude named Chris, Jim, his harem of girlfriends, and a few flying Palmetto bugs who liked to crawl on my neck at night.
It was one of the best beach trips of my life, and not only because I converted a member of Jim's harem to eating meat. But my resulting pride was justified: shit, I was toothless at the time (left), but I suppose the image and smell of me standing at the stove cooking peppered bacon couldn't stop the primordial meat-lust in that vegan.
I was also determined to catch fish and shark from the beach at night during that trip. In case you don't know, that entails wading into dark crashing waves with a surf-casting rod slung on my back until I'm ribs deep, then flinging it past the breakers. Half the fun of such fishing is the thrill of going into the unknown to catch the unknown.
Last year, I only caught dogfish. The funnest part was drunkenly throwing the live foot-long dogfish shark at drunk-ass Chris sitting on the sand. Man, you've never seen a city boy squirm!
Here's the plan for this weekend to compete with last year: fish during the day for small fish like Spot or Croaker. Then, later than night (after drinks), I'll hook 'em in their scaly backs dangling at the end of some serious piano-wire leaders --- you know, so the big sharks don't bite through it.
I'll hurl that live fish out past the breakers and wait. Wait. I'll do it. I've only caught one seriously big shark from the beach my whole life and that feeling is worth trying to achieve again. Do you have any idea what that sensation is?
I can't write about 90% of that crap because --- how you say --- my "readership has changed" and I can't "offend" people. Call me a pussy for not elaborating, but I'll just give the details of those last bits on the shark and this vacation home --- safe subjects.
Last year at this time, I visited the Most Amazing Beach House of My Life in Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina --- Jim's brother's beachfront house. I wrote a tad bit here about that experience. The place was populated with my hot wife, a Springsteen-loving dude named Chris, Jim, his harem of girlfriends, and a few flying Palmetto bugs who liked to crawl on my neck at night.
It was one of the best beach trips of my life, and not only because I converted a member of Jim's harem to eating meat. But my resulting pride was justified: shit, I was toothless at the time (left), but I suppose the image and smell of me standing at the stove cooking peppered bacon couldn't stop the primordial meat-lust in that vegan.
I was also determined to catch fish and shark from the beach at night during that trip. In case you don't know, that entails wading into dark crashing waves with a surf-casting rod slung on my back until I'm ribs deep, then flinging it past the breakers. Half the fun of such fishing is the thrill of going into the unknown to catch the unknown.
Last year, I only caught dogfish. The funnest part was drunkenly throwing the live foot-long dogfish shark at drunk-ass Chris sitting on the sand. Man, you've never seen a city boy squirm!
Here's the plan for this weekend to compete with last year: fish during the day for small fish like Spot or Croaker. Then, later than night (after drinks), I'll hook 'em in their scaly backs dangling at the end of some serious piano-wire leaders --- you know, so the big sharks don't bite through it.
I'll hurl that live fish out past the breakers and wait. Wait. I'll do it. I've only caught one seriously big shark from the beach my whole life and that feeling is worth trying to achieve again. Do you have any idea what that sensation is?
Comments:
<< Home
LB don't hold back on my account........our ancestor taught /said a lot of things that today are very common place he did it when it wasn't cool
I'm the one with a family friendly blog, I won't even spell out the full name of your blog in my links for gawd's sake.
You, on the other hand, have an obligation to say things like f*ck and sh!t and talk about drinking and sharks and mini-bars in your basement.
After that freakin' CD you sent me, I can handle anything you write. I think.
Post a Comment
You, on the other hand, have an obligation to say things like f*ck and sh!t and talk about drinking and sharks and mini-bars in your basement.
After that freakin' CD you sent me, I can handle anything you write. I think.
<< Home
Web Counters