Way Back Wednesday #3
I originally posted this in another blog on April 16, 2005. Enjoy the third installment of "Way Back Wednesday."
Beer For Bait
In February of this year, a friend and I went to Clearwater Beach for some sunshine and fishing. I'm not really the bubba type that hangs out on a levee all day with a cane pole and some hotdog pieces for bait, but I do like to go deep sea fishing. It's just being out on the water more than anything else, although I do enjoy taking my catch to the local "Crabby Bill's" so they can cook it for me.
The first day we were there, the water was a little choppy, so the boat we had chartered wouldn't go out. Desperate for some pole time (take a deep breath out there strippers), we ended up finding one of those large boats that takes about 40 or 50 people out. The pros of a trip like that include the fact that they sell beer on the boat and even though it was pretty early in the day, I started knocking back the golden nectar of the gods, drinking them quick enough that they didn't have time to become tepid.
Meanwhile, there was a family next to me that obviously didn't have their sea legs yet. It seemed that three generations had decided to test the waters that morning, a young son, about eight or nine, his dad, a large tattoo covered man that I suspected was on leave from the military, and grandpa, who had his floppy fishing hat complete with lures embedded into the brim. Well, the little boy was oblivious at first to the prow of the boat crashing up and down with the waves and quickly pounded down two Sprites, a bag of potato chips, some peanuts and a chocolate bar. Fifteen minutes later, while I was on my fourth beer, pee wee looked a little green around the gills. Sure enough, he bellied up to the rail and began to chunder over the side of the boat. This is when the true hilarity of the scene began. Dad's breakfast began to rebel on him and he soon joined his son, hurling huevos rancheros and god knows what else into the Gulf of Mexico. Feeling left out, gramps began to do his best yak imitation.
So I'm sitting there, getting more fucked up than a two dicked billie goat, watching three generations heave their guts out. It reminded me of an Adam Sandler movie and my only regret is that the last two living cells in my brain didn't tell me to take a picture. It would have ruled on ratemyvomit.com.
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Beer For Bait
In February of this year, a friend and I went to Clearwater Beach for some sunshine and fishing. I'm not really the bubba type that hangs out on a levee all day with a cane pole and some hotdog pieces for bait, but I do like to go deep sea fishing. It's just being out on the water more than anything else, although I do enjoy taking my catch to the local "Crabby Bill's" so they can cook it for me.
The first day we were there, the water was a little choppy, so the boat we had chartered wouldn't go out. Desperate for some pole time (take a deep breath out there strippers), we ended up finding one of those large boats that takes about 40 or 50 people out. The pros of a trip like that include the fact that they sell beer on the boat and even though it was pretty early in the day, I started knocking back the golden nectar of the gods, drinking them quick enough that they didn't have time to become tepid.
Meanwhile, there was a family next to me that obviously didn't have their sea legs yet. It seemed that three generations had decided to test the waters that morning, a young son, about eight or nine, his dad, a large tattoo covered man that I suspected was on leave from the military, and grandpa, who had his floppy fishing hat complete with lures embedded into the brim. Well, the little boy was oblivious at first to the prow of the boat crashing up and down with the waves and quickly pounded down two Sprites, a bag of potato chips, some peanuts and a chocolate bar. Fifteen minutes later, while I was on my fourth beer, pee wee looked a little green around the gills. Sure enough, he bellied up to the rail and began to chunder over the side of the boat. This is when the true hilarity of the scene began. Dad's breakfast began to rebel on him and he soon joined his son, hurling huevos rancheros and god knows what else into the Gulf of Mexico. Feeling left out, gramps began to do his best yak imitation.
So I'm sitting there, getting more fucked up than a two dicked billie goat, watching three generations heave their guts out. It reminded me of an Adam Sandler movie and my only regret is that the last two living cells in my brain didn't tell me to take a picture. It would have ruled on ratemyvomit.com.
posted by Bat at 8:24 AM
1 Comments:
Oh how funny! Wish you would have taken a pic!
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