Saturday, March 24, 2007
The Land of Queens
or whatever.
Guess where I'm at, bitches? Townsville. It's in Queensland. That's in Australia. I spent the morning at a topless beach in Sydney. Too much. As husky as I am, I still needed to get in the water to prevent anything from getting too awkward, if you know what I mean. 75-year-old women are gorgeous there. It's revolting to have that type of physical reaction seeing grandmothers (possibly great-grandmothers).
Deucey, if you can, sell my car because I'm not coming back. It won't get you much, but it does have a sweet auto-pilot system from most of the bars in Omaha.
Townsville is a lot like Lincoln. Remember how much I terrorized that town? Get ready for deportation, MIB. It's 3:23 in the morning and Big Brother and Big Sister-In-Law and MIB have just finished of a case of beer we bought a couple of hours ago. And they said, and I quote, "We're not big drinkers."
I get to watch my nine-year-old nephews "football" game tomorrow. AT 9:00 IN THE EFFING MORNING! I'm sure I'll be in fine form. I wouldn't know what was going on anyway, but watching a foreign sport should do wonders for my intellect.
Last night was bananas. I was captured as a hostage by two beautiful women in a cab. Before introducing themselves, they offered me a beer. Needless to say, I was in heaven. They don't really believe in open container laws. Did I mention that I wasn't coming back? We miss two ferries. One because we were late and they are women. Neither of which made a difference to me. The second because we were finishing our beers. Fantastic. We finally got to the city and the rest of the she-wolves had already polished off two bottles of champagne. Or so they call it. It's really just sparkling wine. I won't correct them. They get defensive. We move to a place called the Opera Bar. It's right outside of the Opera House and just across the Harbour from the absolutely amazing Harbour Bridge. I must have looked like quite the fairy, what with the six gorgeous women surrounding me. If anyone had looked closer they would have realized that I'm neither fit enough or well dressed enough to be gay. All I had been told (mostly by these girls' fathers) was that these girls would drink me under the table. Don't challenge me to that. I did in fact win that war, but lost a battle in the 45-minute cab drive home. Apparently, I passed out so hard that the cab driver had to wake me up. You just got Belushied, Sydney.
Word to your mothers,
MIB.
Guess where I'm at, bitches? Townsville. It's in Queensland. That's in Australia. I spent the morning at a topless beach in Sydney. Too much. As husky as I am, I still needed to get in the water to prevent anything from getting too awkward, if you know what I mean. 75-year-old women are gorgeous there. It's revolting to have that type of physical reaction seeing grandmothers (possibly great-grandmothers).
Deucey, if you can, sell my car because I'm not coming back. It won't get you much, but it does have a sweet auto-pilot system from most of the bars in Omaha.
Townsville is a lot like Lincoln. Remember how much I terrorized that town? Get ready for deportation, MIB. It's 3:23 in the morning and Big Brother and Big Sister-In-Law and MIB have just finished of a case of beer we bought a couple of hours ago. And they said, and I quote, "We're not big drinkers."
I get to watch my nine-year-old nephews "football" game tomorrow. AT 9:00 IN THE EFFING MORNING! I'm sure I'll be in fine form. I wouldn't know what was going on anyway, but watching a foreign sport should do wonders for my intellect.
Last night was bananas. I was captured as a hostage by two beautiful women in a cab. Before introducing themselves, they offered me a beer. Needless to say, I was in heaven. They don't really believe in open container laws. Did I mention that I wasn't coming back? We miss two ferries. One because we were late and they are women. Neither of which made a difference to me. The second because we were finishing our beers. Fantastic. We finally got to the city and the rest of the she-wolves had already polished off two bottles of champagne. Or so they call it. It's really just sparkling wine. I won't correct them. They get defensive. We move to a place called the Opera Bar. It's right outside of the Opera House and just across the Harbour from the absolutely amazing Harbour Bridge. I must have looked like quite the fairy, what with the six gorgeous women surrounding me. If anyone had looked closer they would have realized that I'm neither fit enough or well dressed enough to be gay. All I had been told (mostly by these girls' fathers) was that these girls would drink me under the table. Don't challenge me to that. I did in fact win that war, but lost a battle in the 45-minute cab drive home. Apparently, I passed out so hard that the cab driver had to wake me up. You just got Belushied, Sydney.
Word to your mothers,
MIB.
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