My penis is smaller today. I haven’t measured it but I’m fairly certain it’s actually shrunk over the last 48-hours. But I’m also oddly, more in touch with my inner beauty and that’s got to be a plus right? If anyone wants to talk about how they “feel” today just leave a note in the comments section. I’ll be sure to respond.
I’ve just spent the last 48 hours or so with five vaginas … err ladies during a road trip to the Poconos so they could visit Camelbeach Mountain Water Park.
I can happily report that none of them killed each other and that I’m basically unscathed.
If you haven’t been following along, and why would you have been honestly, I have just returned from a two-day trip in which my wife, her daughter, her daughter’s partner, her partner’s daughter, her partner’s daughters friend (Jesus Christ that was hard!) and I went to the Poconos to visit a water park. I’m 43 years old. I don’t have kids of my own and the only thing I’d rather do less than visit a water park is to put a nail up my pee-pee hole.
If you had a gun to my head and was given the option, “Water park, or briefly put a this nail in your pee-pee hole,” I’d have to think about it. I mean the nail shit would be over in moments, right? That’s an hour of being uncomfortable at best. Really it’s a no-brainer when you think about it.
But no one had a gun to my head nor did anyone offer up the nail option so off to the Poconos we went.
While the three-hour drive there and back was basically uneventful (why do you fucking people insist on doing the speed limit in the passing lane for fuck’s sake!) I did learn a few valuable lessons about the female psyche.
For example, how much fucking aspirin do you fucking chicks need in a given 24-hour period anyway? Why the constant discussions of dosages too? Just take the fucking pill and swallow it. If it’s too much — who cares — and if it’s too little — take more. Also, why does someone always have to not feel good? Why is someone always mad at someone else in the group? What the fuck is that? Is that some kind of female-pack mentality thing those of us with a penis don’t have the genes to understand? I sure don’t.
Anyway, thanks to the invention of smart phones and head phones no one talked much anyway. Someone in the back of the car would giggle or laugh outright and Dagmar and I would be the only ones to hear them. Maybe the headphones are a good thing, If they had talked I would have shushed them because I planned on torturing everyone the entire way with NPR talk radio.
Upon arriving in the area I was a bit shocked. I thought the Poconos was some posh place? Why did you lie to me America? I would have settled for, “It has a lot of cheap hotels and tourist-trap bullshit.” Really, I would have been just fine with that. It’s all gaudy bullshit and cheap tourist crap. Which is fine, really, I just thought — hell I don’t know what I thought.
If New Jersey ever successfully invades the French Riviera I know what the result will look like, is all.
I’d like to say the water park was a nightmare of epic proportions, but it wasn’t. I was allowed to act as the automatic cash dispenser for the ladies when it came to the bar. In a development I never expected, the water park had a bar right in the middle of it. I was allowed to park my boring ass right at the bar for the duration. I rode not a single vortex o’ pee, nor a “flow of kids screaming like idiots” ride the entire time. In fact, I didn’t even get wet.
It was perfect really.
If you’re above the age of 40 and still enjoy those rides good on you. Really I mean that. I could just not give a fuck is the issue. Call me a killjoy, call me boring, I’d just rather sip cold beers and people watch. All five vagin … I mean ladies … I was with understood that and left me in charge of towel-watching while they frolicked about the park and I put away $6 Corona beers.
I came to find I had company though. I wasn’t the only stick in the mud. More than a few parents confessed they had gone on not a single ride and were happy to let their respective kids run wild while they nursed their alcoholism beside me.
Some asshole, and by asshole I mean a really funny dude, made a point that we had to remain clothed at waterparks in ‘Merica during last week’s blog update. Which, yeah, I had that coming.
Two last points about the place. America, you’ve lost weight haven’t you? Really you look a bit thinner than last time I was here 18 months ago. What’s your secret? Not all of you of course, and there could be some confirmation bias going on here, but on the whole, you look thinner. I’d say in another 24 months you’re going to fit into that dress you bought because you don’t, overall, look as fat as I remember. Then again, it was a water park and maybe fat people don’t go to them.
OK, I’m done with the fat jokes.
When the fuck did smoking outdoors become regulated? Land of the free indeed. This area had two smoking areas, while outdoors and you couldn’t smoke anywhere but … OK fuck it, Europe is doing that too now. Trouble is in Europe I can’t understand the jeers. Here I can. “Honey come back here you don’t want to walk over there, that’s where the people smoke, you don’t like smoke do you,” and such. Can you leave us to our coffin nails with a bit of peace, is that too much to ask?
Next up farm country, cows and lots of deer. Dagmar and I are going to kick it into low gear with a quick trip to upstate New York starting tomorrow.