Wednesday, September 16, 2009

An Epic Win.

The rest of the night was a blur. I woke up in a posh suite with a bevvy of tiny, lithe bodies surrounding me. I threw out all but the nearest two:

Borrowing from a tip I had learned from a master of ‘standing-up’ on ‘The Comedy Central,‘ I attempted to soothe my hangover with the only method of which I was aware:

I believe my alcoholism is firmly diagnosable at this point, as I began to hallucinate.

Really? The namesake of my website?

Surely, I was either either on the brink of death or insanity, merely waxing self-aggrandized about my blog… What would I see next?

Oh Christ…

At least things couldn’t really get much weirder, considering all I’d seen in the past few months. I settled down to an evening of amateur stage performances…

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

What have I done?

Posted by Pooptoad on 09/16 at 11:02 PM
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Not a left coast state!

So I took some time off to find my bearings. The balmy shores of Mar Pacífico had truly given me a profound appreciation for both the geographic diversity of this fine land as well as a rare opportunity to get to know a vast cross section of its inhabitants. I assumed that things would turn back to normal as I returned closer to my original adopted home. I could hardly have been more wrong.

I had pretty much had enough of these weird, dressy folk back during my little trip out to the coast, but yet here they were again. At least they seemed a little less fanatical and a bit more social than those I had previously encountered, albeit just as nerdy.

Even with their penchant for the consumption of cerebral tissue, their stomachs remained vacant enough to drink just as much as their Pacific Daylight Time counterparts.

This, of course, can easily be blamed on the presence of the Russians who, as they are wont to do, manhandled me.

If you know me by now, you realize that this sort of thing isn’t exactly my scene. I needed to unwind, so I set off upon the town, my limerick pen in tow:

In need of a smoky treat,
I wandered the local streets,
When I came out to play,
‘twas a leggy display,
and I swear he’d been groping her teats.

Hrm.. That is all.

Posted by Pooptoad on 09/16 at 08:28 PM
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Saturday, September 12, 2009

A Nice Day for a White Wedding!

So apparently a group of people communed somewhere and decided that I would be allowed to dress up like a genuine Vanilla whitey from the 1920s.

Oh, how I obliged them.

I was unsure whether to relax with a cigar or to hike up my trow and go out for a game of Croquet, which was honestly an option at this particular “Four Seasoned” resort, or to manage the whole matter a little more subtly and just be a lot more racist than usual… Kind of a strange idea, considering my skin tone. I decided to embrace my newly found Caucasian side by treading outdoors for a rousing sequence of golf holes.

These sporting events are pathetic. Look at these fools attempt to compete. I kept the mocking howls sewn up within my lips whilst watching them attempt to compete. A putting competition? They were obviously not aware of my rigorous training back home.

I’m not exactly sure what hole this was, because the monotony of draining 20’+ putts had worn my mind to a shiny finish. This was probably one of the two holes where I actually needed to make a second shot.

Of course, this was all a diversion from what really mattered. My handler had traveled to these strange places for several reasons, but the trip itself may not have occurred at all were it not for the fact that it was of the utmost importance that he be there for his sister’s wedding. My brief encounter with her merely reinforced what was implied by his previous chatter, to explain the need for the trip. By means of rumor, I learned that she even allowed for my presence at the wedding, a decree of which I took full advantage by intruding upon the traditional cake-cutting photographs. Here I am upon the groom’s discovery of my intrusion:

Dear lord, how I drank afterwards. I sometimes wish my eyes could close. Even with my sleeping cap on, I couldn’t manage to nestle myself into the arms of Morpheus nearly as easily as some of my compatriots.

For my handler, this marked the end of his vacation, but more adventures would be had.

Posted by Pooptoad on 09/12 at 01:11 AM
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Monday, September 07, 2009

I believe I can fly!

So apparently the foliage behind me is typically on fire; my timing is impeccable. I do think that in this most agreeable of seasons, I blend in quite well.. So well, in fact, that I thought I’d meander over to the right side of the frame to fool you for a bit. That or I may just be moseying off towards the wafting aromas of fine tannins in the summer breeze.

Ah yes, there we have it. I’ll just give it a little swirl, the syrah. I’ll have a little more of this one please. There is nothing finer than a sunny winery, surrounded by the company of friends and strangers alike, all soaking up the various energies the sun has to offer. And what would a winery be without…

...some goats?

Upon closer inspection, these folks seemed to be a rather agreeable lot, but we didn’t seem to be on the same conversational wavelength. But I had other motives for being in this particular place. It was time to meet with family. I will spare you of all but the most perfunctory reunion shot:

It was all to brief, but we caught up as could best be managed. I nearly teared up upon our all-too-soon departure, and upon learning that the winery with the miniature horses was closed.

Alas, mine was not the only family to be reunited on this voyage…

Posted by Pooptoad on 09/07 at 10:20 PM
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