Summer is coming to an end. Sad. Always seems to pass us by in the blink of an eye.
Magical time of year. Most of us make memories. Take a vacation. If you’re a teacher it’s a time for freedom & relaxation. A much needed break. If you happen to be my sister you duct tape yourself to the air conditioner for two months. That’s fantastic but her husband keeps the AC locked at 83 degrees. She attempts to turn it up when he leaves but he’s no dummy. This fucker set a booby trap and had an electric dog fence secretly installed around the thermostat. He connected the device to her earnings and each time she attempts to adjust the thermostat she gets blasted with 74,000 volts of electric current. I was curious how much voltage that was because I didn’t want to see my sister get a burn or a scar or anything. I googled it. Turns out that voltage level could kill a full grown healthy 60 ft sperm whale in 9 seconds. He’s not fucking around. He sent a message. He has a back up plan. Obviously I needed to speak with him about this. I wasn’t sure how to approach him considering he’s a hippie and all. I had a plan. We dropped two hits of acid, chomped on a bag of shrooms, played some “Dead” on Pandora and drank 17 disgusting stouts from Belgium. Once I felt he was comfortable to open up about this, I told him to adjust the electrical current to 70,000 volts. He has back up. If the fence fails or deactivates, he cut out a trap door from his oak wood flooring in the hallway just beneath the air control device. When she presses “on” the floor opens and my sister falls three floors into the heated locked basement as sewer rats and earth worms begin to nibble on her sweaty shins. She hasn’t touched the thermostat in nine years.
That’s great and all but I believe the fondest moments for the majority of us are the beach experiences. Soft sand beneath our toes. Sounds of the ocean waves crashing. Complete relaxation with the exception of the rogue alcoholic seagulls who fly above dropping shit bombs on our hair like the winged bandit is chasing “Maverick” from “Top Gun” as he attempts to heist your bottle of ice cold twisted tea when nobody is looking. It’s not like he simply snatches the alcoholic beverage. This prick lands, pulls three ice cubes from your cooler, cracks the bottle open with his beak & pours it into a red solo cup. He sends his loud mouth seagull chick “on the rag” out to distract us as it pauses mid flight, directly above, hovering & chirping uncontrollably. Women 😂!
My point. With the exception of a few sun scorched swamp ass inspirational 189 degree humidity indexed days, summer and trips to the beach are what it’s all about. There’s a catch.
Going to the beach means only one thing. Other people will be there sharing the glory with you. I have no problem with that. I think it would be creepy if it was just me on a beach battling the onslaught of bird turd as I fiercely guard my beverages from hungover seagulls. Something about being surrounded by other people tends to make it exciting, extremely curious & most of all interesting. Our natural desire & attraction towards people watching kicks into high gear. I haven’t had a chance to get to the beach much this year. Luckily my wife & children along with some of her friends found some much deserved relaxing time over the past few weeks to inhale the beach and all it has to offer.
I have been a bit busy lately. Finding time to channel a creative outlet has been a challenge lately. That being said, I haven’t posted a Blog in a while. I asked my wife for some suggestions. Her first response, “how about top (10) people at a beach.” I was intrigued as I went with her request instantly understanding the beach population was fresh on her mind. Thank you my love. She gave a few, I added a few of my own. Here we go!
Top (10) people almost all of us have seen at a beach
#10. The extreme hairy man of epic proportion.
Personally, I like a little hair on a man. I think its sexy. I’m sure some women agree. Perhaps I’m a bit bias considering my hairy physique is similar to the gentleman above. Some may strongly disagree. That’s ok. Everybody has their own thoughts and opinions. On a side note, I’m not speaking of the dudes walking around with grandmothers 1947 hand knitted sweater sewed directly onto them. Those men are moderately hairy. There’s just something not quite right about a 59 year old adult male walking around with one 6” green chest hair sprouting from each nipple that concerns me. To me they resemble a six foot child about to jump on a slip & slide in his Barney underoos. I’m referring to the men who stroll past us on the beach like “Chewbacca” on “Bay Watch.” Fuckers who are so hairy they require a fire extinguisher present at all times because the lifeguard passionately feels these fury objects may catch fire from the direct heat of the sun. As if a beach forest fire may break out at any given moment. I get it. It’s the hand you were dealt. Trim that shit bro. When we can’t tell where your ass hair begins and eyebrows are positioned on your face, it’s time for a man-scape consultation. Either that or visit a farmer. Hop on that table with the lambs and sheer that shit. If it takes you 7 hours to “dry off naturally” in a sweltering 106 degree summer sunny day, its a problem. Sometimes I can’t decipher if I’m sunbathing next to a hairy man or perhaps some beach patron who planted a fully mature radiation induced chia pet.
#9. Old topless ladies covered in blistering sunburn to the 5th degree.
This proves you can worship the sun your entire life and still live a healthy happy life. True, if you enjoy seeing yourself in the mirror daily looking like you’ve been showering in cinnamon raisin oatmeal for 6 decades. The set of boobs attached to your body are literally held together by dental floss. The g-string bottom covering your overcooked fudge cookie brownie I assume is now used as a protective shield for your life alert button. If I had to guess, I would say your mother gave birth to you in a tanning bed. Only way a human can withstand the destruction of the sun for 80 years. To make matters worse, you have a “three pack a day” Virginia Slim cigarette addiction. It’s not like normal average size tobacco products like Marlboro are harmful enough. You must feel the need to suck and puff on a 13″ Lincoln log cigarette that burns continuous for several hours. I had an Aunt who use to smoke such a cancer stick. She would light her first cig at breakfast. Shit would still be burning during coffee & cake. Simply amazing.
#8. The narcoleptic.
I don’t give a damn what time of the day it happens to be. What beach you’re at or what time of the year it is. There’s always that one individual who finds a comfortable sandy beach area, lays their towel down and hibernates. This specimen can sleep & survive pretty much through any beach situation. Sand storms & viscous attacks from multiple colonies of sand fleas. Typhoons will pick these extremely tired people up from their original beach resting place at The Jersey Shore and deposit them on a beach in Maryland like it never happened. They will sleep like a baby during the entire ordeal. Meanwhile, I drink seven jars of extra strength NyQuil only to get one hour of sleep. I’ve seen sleeping beach patrons run over by off road speeding police vehicles. 9 ton rusted sand swipers simply crush them. Buried in sand by playful children. Heck, I once witnessed an avid shark fisherman run out of bait and chum. He grabbed the exhausted being and inserted a 9” hook into this bastards shoulder blade and casted him out into the frigid ocean water in hopes of snagging a 4000 ton 18 foot Great White. Luckily, he didn’t get any bites that day.
#7. The human floatation device a mile off shore
Life guards have basically have simply given up on this individual. Their whistles & warning go unnoticed. Before you know it all you can see is a sparkling toe and a shower cap down the surface of the ocean water. Dolphins emerge in curiosity from the surrounding waters. Families of sardines will nibble at there ass cheeks. Seagulls will use them as landing pads for a short rest. Last but not least, don’t these fucking wanna be mermaids understand there are dangerous man eating predators lurking below? I know they must feel at peace and connected to the ocean but come on now. I won’t even mention the fact you our navigating through the ocean saturated population of poisonous jelly fish. I firmly believe you can find a better way to spend your Sunday. I must admit, your sea floating skills are tight.
#6. Romantic beach couple.
Never fails. You walk on a beach. Find a nice comfortable relaxing spot. Settle down. Get your shit in order. You naturally begin to people watch because that’s just what we do as a human race. I once seen three ladies of Africa people watching some other hard working African lady balancing 80 pounds of laundry and a buffalo carcass on her head. These bitches were critiquing her style and approach as buffalo guts seeped into her eyeballs as a pride of Lions chewed on her ankles. Basically we are intrigued with all the different walks of life around us. We must judge. It’s natural. Then it happens. Our attention is instantly drawn to Romeo & fucking Juliet sexually sprawled out across a dandelion embroidered beach towel next to a filthy garbage can full of vomit & grannies flaking burnt skin residue. It’s pretty intense. Public ocean affection at its finest. Ok. They are in love. Maybe a bit passionate for a public beach but hey, there is nothing more romantic than seagull shit and sand fleas in your belly buttons. You look the other way as you become jealous and wish your relationship is that arousing. You figure a few kisses, a hug or two and these love birds will take dip in the water. You decide to cool off for a moment. Dry and prepare to relax. These two horny bastards are still kissing as if they are bobbing for apples. Now Tiki torches surround the couple. Remains of cherry stems and bottles of curdled whip cream liter the area. Rusted yellow planes dangerously low on fuel fly above with banners in tow stating “Johnny & Marie forever.” Meanwhile they met in the Boardwalk bathroom a few hours back. Micheal Bolton’s greatest hits serenade the entire beach. Meanwhile, these two humps haven’t rounded first base. They been swapping spit for 3 hours in the sweltering sun. I become jealous as I haven’t kissed my wife passionately since our wedding rehearsal dinner. I’m all about romantic encounters mostly with Pornhub but the beach is not the place in my honest opinion.
#5. The drunk girl.
This scene is almost always bound to occur when you spend the day at the beach. Time is never a factor. These events can happen anytime of the day. 6am. Don’t matter & it’s always a girl. I particularly enjoy when the police arrive as this intoxicated figure attempts to explain her point of view. She trips over sand castles pleading her innocence. Proceeds to regurgitate on her boobs. The “Richie Valence” tramp stamp she had tattooed above her ass crack the prior evening appears severely infected. Officers always allow the situation to continue for a bit for comic relief. Once she gets cuffed it becomes serious. She morphs into a severely arthritic double jointed “Rhonda Rousey” on crystal meth. Anger turns into rage. Vomits again violently as one boob covered in seaweed emerges. Either that or a half eaten funnel cake will drop from her panties as she’s hauled away to the slammer. Then it happens. Her beach posse dressed in ponchos & sombreros will arrive on the scene driving a beach wagon full of “Mikes Hard Lemonade” pleading their friend is not drunk and this is a form of police brutality. Eventually they all get arrested. Never fails.
#4. The Amish Family
Listen. The beach is public. All are welcome and I think that’s wonderful. It’s everybody’s right to enjoy a day at the beach. I believe that certain cultures simply don’t belong at the beach. Not because I’m discriminating. I feel the lifestyles they lead & follow don’t gel well with the beach environment. That’s all. I don’t believe I gel well with the Indian culture. I like Indians. They are nice people. Everything about their culture turns my asshole into a volcanic eruption. One whiff of curry has me flame throwing lava out of my butt. Everything the Amish believe in & the ocean seem so polar opposite. Historically, beaches are a time to put on a swimsuit, jump on a boogie board, drink a beer and show a nice body off. These families stroll the beach dressed like they are picking corn & planting fig trees. Suspenders & dress pants. Wooden shoes and flowered head gear. Fuckers pull up in a horse & carriage. Coolers made of hand carved cherry wood & copper water canteens. It’s truly a site to see. They walk to the waters edge. Look around as women with giant fake tits and male speedo induced sausages rub up against their 29 layers of clothing. They quickly realize they are not at the local stream hunting crayfish & gathering fresh water. There’s is nothing more satisfying than watching a young Amish lad stare at a half naked woman on the beach as his Wife smacks him in the back of the head with a pressure treated 2 x 4. Gets me every time.
#3. The Puerto Rican family beach party.
Here’s what I know. When this crew gets together it’s a party. They treat this experience passionately. Every family member attends this event. Great grandmothers. Uncles & Aunts. Cousins. Infants born that morning. Doesn’t matter. If you are somehow related you must attend this gathering. Personally I love it. Most of the time I’m tempted to send my family home so I can party with them. I’ll take an Uber home or crash in one of their vehicles. They do it right. No doubt. 7:30 am it’s on. Spanish music pumping. Pigs roasting and shit. Family disputes begin immediately. Mostly revolves around who’s the father of the infant born that morning. The women are tough. They usually get the situation under control. If that doesn’t work the Grandmother gets up. The party stops. Music miraculously fades. Even the ocean water calms the fuck down to hear this shit. A Puerto Rican grandmother is equivalent to a mafia boss. She grabs the men by their thin trimmed mustaches. Slaps them around a bit. It ends there. 119 additional cousins show up and now it’s a party. There’s no sand castles. No beach chairs or umbrellas. No sun tan lotion or towels. It’s 378 family members dancing together in a 9 foot radius even though they have 378 miles of open beach. They keep it close. Even the life guard blows the whistle occasionally. The Grandma stands up and this fucker apologizes. I’ve never seen so many people salsa on a beach in my life. Even the infant born 3 hours ago was busting a move (or was simply hungry.) They know how to throw a party on a beach.
#2. My wife.
This woman loves the ocean. Doesn’t get to go often. When she gets the opportunity she embellishes. Reads a book. Passes out and doesn’t give a crap. Could probably put her in the narcoleptic category I guess. At home she hears every sound. Extremely alert of her homes surroundings. I drop a grain of salt and she yells “what was that?” She hits the beach and gets in the zone. She’s out. I’ll bounce sour bologna sandwiches off her cheek in hopes to disturb her. I’ll shoot spit balls at her lip. Spread seagull poop in between her toes. Nothing. She has the ability to shut out the world while she lies on the beach. Nothing wrong with that until a rogue wave comes rolling in one day. Honestly don’t have much to say about her in this post ironically. Just love picture to be honest.
#1. My mother in law.
Ok. She is actually that Puerto Rican grandmother I was referring to. I am tempting fate and the very own safety of my life writing this. Pretty much gonna finish this up and get the fuck out of dodge. Kiss my family goodbye while they are all asleep & hop on a train. Most likely my last post. This woman will be at my door tomorrow morning with Spanish voodoo, evil smudge equipment, a meat cleaver, Goya beans, a Tito Puente cassette, tray of Flan, El Chapo and the director of Scarface. If I leave now I have a chance. This is my last goodbye. I love you all. But first, let’s talk about my YaYa at the beach. Last time this woman was so close to an ocean front she was riding a Cuban refugee boat taking on deadly amounts of sea water as she crashed into the shores Miami. She doesn’t seem to fit the normal Puerto Rican woman profile on a hot summer day at the beach. She appears more prepared for a day of ice fishing in Alaska. Either way, she enjoyed herself with her family. I can’t say too much about her as I may want to one day reconcile with my family.
I was warned and I ignored the warning. What else is new. I Live on the edge I guess.