I thought I would have a more clever name for this post, but once I got to “vacation,” my eyes glazed over and I kind of lost track of what time it was. Vacaaaaaaaaaaaation. What a great word. Especially when it’s drawn out like that with all them extra a’s in there.
So in about 11 days (or 270 hours, or 16256 minutes, or 975393 seconds, but who’s counting, me that’s who), I will be on my way to the Poconos, where the entire world vacations and sometimes all at once, and New York City, which is where the salsa comes from. YOU ARE ALL JEALOUS I KNOW. While I am there, I will be having drinks, eating pork buns, wearing comfortable shoes (learned my lesson on that one), jawing and bullshitting and flap-gumming with the World’s Most Weirdos including Lenny, perhaps getting into a legal snafu (never can tell, be prepared as the Boy Scouts say). I also get to spend time with this guy:
So obviously it’s going to be the GREATEST VACATION EVER.
Naturally, all this feeling of being giddy with the silly-happy is tempered by the fact that to get to vacaaaaaaaaation, I have to drive five million miles. WTF why is the Earth so damn big? I have to pee again. Everyone get the fuck out of my way because I am on the road to good times. TOLLS. (._.) > (o_O) > (O_O)
I just pray to Our Lord and Saviour Micky Dolenz for safe travels and that I don’t straight up murder someone’s ass at any point on this trip. Also that I find a nice hotel along the way that isn’t infected with gonorrhea.