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Published: November 5th 2008
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Trex Attack
I'm teaching Tara how to take clothes off using only your teeth. Supple
Supple is my new favorite word. Have you ever like a word so much that you use it completely out of context and definition? Like yesterday I had a home cooked meal that was so so supple and delicious.
As everyone knows by now, our house is wet. It’s Florida in July swampy wet. It’s only a matter of time before a new strain of Malaria is developed in the walls of our bathroom. Spiders can’t crawl on the walls because it’s too slippery for them to get grip.
There’s less water and dampness on a Panamanian boathouse.
Living in a wet home is what me and Tara have come to call, “an adventure.” Like running out of money and eating 7 day old Quiznos meat out of moldy sandwich bread (wyatt). This adventure has a special twist. The small silver Mac Laptop had it’s power chord insert replaced long ago and I believe they wired it wrong. When ever my feet are touching the ground when it’s a little damp (which is always) and plug in the power chord to the laptop, I basically getna small current of electricity passing through my body. At first it
Beer Matts
Here at NASA all our canidates go through a rigorous selection process. was kind of supple to have the electric touch. When I would touch or rub Tara, objects or even myself I could feel the current pass and consume all the feeling i had in my finger tips. Then it started to be not so cool. Like this afternoon when I shocked myself in the penis while I was trying to adjust or the other night, when Tara treid to kiss me and got electrocuted. This may be one of those 2001 Space Odyssey scenarios where the laptop is alive and in love with Tara and trying to kill me.
Some General Ireland Info
In Ireland the pubs and bars close at 12:30am, and the clubs at 3am. The clubs draw out the chicken head women. The other day for example, it was 32 degrees outside and on the way home from the pub, I saw somewhere between 100 and 700 half naked girls with skirts that make the booty pop. The girls are able to pull this off by wearing flesh toned panty hose. Though flesh toned or as Tara says, “nude color,” it still seems like a bunch of pasty white girls got their legs tanned but
Hard At Work
Guinness please. Guinness please. Guinness pint. Pint of Guinness. Please, somebody ask me to make a fucking cocktail. forgot to tan the rest of their bodies. As for the other girls, they spray their tans on and they look the exact opposite of having really bad orange tans and peach colored legs. It’s like some sort of Frankenstein hooker monster. Not very supple.
Another thing here is public display of affection. It’s not common. It doesn’t happen. I’ve never even seen another couple kiss here. Kissing may be illegal and me and Tara just haven’t gotten caught yet. Maybe there’s a mono outbreak and no one told us. Maybe these people just aren’t aware of the supple sensation of kissing.
Another Ireland piece of info is tricking out your car. Cars are expensive as hell here, along with gas and insurance. Cars are the same price as a small house in California. A standard shitty 2 door Ford Metro like car is about $20,000. Insurance with a clean record for that car, about $3,000 a year. Gas you wonder, gas is about $7-9 a gallon. To make up the expensive of tricking out an already expensive car, the Irish have chosen to soup up KIAs and Toyota Carrollas instead of Hondas and Nissans. If you owned
Later that Night
Brian, "Jesus Christ i want some whiskey so bad."
a BMW or a Jetta here, well, that would be a supple step towards getting laid every other night from Frankenstein Hooker Monster Women.
Ireland has the worse seating in the history of world. I often wondered why everyone walked around with slouchy and crippled looking backs. I’ve been here two months and it’ll take me a year, 3 surgeries and a back brace for the rest of my life to repair the damage done to my back. Every bar, every table, every cab or bus seat, requires you to lean, slouch, sit uncomfortable and sacrafice every living tissue surrounding your spine. There needs to be a national law to overhaul the seats in this country before its too late.
I finally got a job or two jobs or the same job at two different places. I got bartending work at Ah Pucan and I also got the same job at a bar called Bar Nah Halla, the Pucan’s sister bar. One bar is a tourist trap with a few locals who are lonely and enjoy the tourist company and the other bar is full of drunk, grumpy old locals. If you’re not local, you can’t come in
Costellos
Please fill in your own dirty comment. there. My first day at Bar Nah Halla I walked in and the manager Paul took one devastating look at me and as he went to speak, I spoke for him, “Yeah, Mike sent you a fucking Yankee.” We’re still considered Yanks over here.
Both bars have their ups and downs. I can understand everyone who comes into the Pucan and the high volume of tourists makes it easier to get along with the customers, but my boss is a kind of a tool and they turn soccer off whenever a band is playing. And you can’t drink on the job or after you get off work because a few lads ruined the privelage of doing either. I miss Bass already. Bar Nah Halla is full of angry drunk, locals who I can’t understand a fucking thing they say sober, let alone drunk. At first, they all hated me, but by the end of the second day, they were buying me drinks. Here its sweeter because if they buy you drinks you can save them up and either drink them after your shift or cash them all out at the end of your shift. The bad part about working here is that the old man are very volitale. My first 15 minutes at work saw an old guy try and fight another old guy because he wouldn’t argue with him. My head was also on the chopping block after a few wrong orders, wether it was my fault or not. The best part is the memory span of these cranky sunspotted smelly jerks is one minute they want to kill you for no reason and the next minute they’re shaking you hand for an eternity telling you that you’re a good man over and over. A bar full of quick to snap Irish locals is also hard to clear. It’s not like back home where you just yell at everyone until they leave. Here we close at 11:30pm on Sundays and we didn’t get everyone out until 1am. But I also didn’t get a black eye and I still have all my teeth. I'm a winner. Hopefully John McCain isn't.
Some Guinness was spilt on the barroom floor
And when the place was shut for the night
Out of a hole crept a wee brown mouse
And he stood in the pale moon light
He lapped the frothy brew from the floor
Then on his haunches he sat
And all night long you could hear him roar
Bring out that fucking cat!
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Tamra
non-member comment
HAHAHA!!!!! I LOVE IT!!
That is all I have to say!!!!