Lessons from Irma

 

irma

I’m back again, having pulled myself out from under a pile of brush and empty Natty Ice cans, to recover from my most recent brush with death. Not talking about Hurricane Irma.

I’m talking about my bender.

I’m fine. Can’t say the same for my liver. If he could talk, he’d use his new-found voice to call Liver Protective Services and get placed with a foster caretaker who would abuse him slightly less.  But he can’t, so much like the toddler of a Florida meth-head mom, he’s stuck with me until they find some conclusive evidence at the hospital.

This was my first major Florida hurricane. I’ve been through a few small ones before, but nothing too scary. A bit like a Tindr date. A shit ton of build-up, a half-hearted blowjob and it’s over with minimal debris. Then came Irma. I learned a lot from Irma. Mainly, I learned that I can drink 47 beers in one night and not die. But I also learned some less important things to include;

#1 – AT&T sucks — but AT&T apologists suck even more

As my livelihood depends on having internet access, I was kind of worried as to when that access would be restored. Decided to check a forum, where a lot of people were bitching AT&T out. Then I got pissed. It wasn’t the not having service that bothered me.

It was the tight-lipped policy of all company representatives who refused to give a straight answer. Reminded me a bit of when they caught all them Catholic priests diddling kids and the Catholic church responded by saying “we’re still investigating what we think is an isolated incident. We’ll respond as soon as we’re possibly able.”

I fucking hate non-answer answers!

But even worse are the non-company affiliated high horse assholes who have to respond to every fucking comment. “Jeez, you’re living in a disaster zone! Try appreciating nature. Take your kid to a playground instead of worrying about streaming Netflix.”

First, most Florida playgrounds were blown North of the Mason-Dixon line. Next,  a hypocrite telling me to get off the internet while he’s using the internet is just irritating. I don’t owe you an explanation as to why I don’t want to go enjoy post-hurricane nature. It’s none of your business if my only end game is to finally binge-watch Season 7 of the Walking Dead (which it totally is). My beef ain’t with some random internet douchebag.

My beef is with a company that I pay to provide a service not being able to provide said service, while not providing answers on when that service will be restored. That puts the onus on me to decide whether I want to give them the benefit of the doubt and wait, or whether I want to sign on with a company whose cell towers aren’t made of balsawood.

So shut the fuck up and let them answer the questions. No one needs to hear from you. Why don’t you take some time off the internet and go appreciate nature instead? I hear there’s a lovely sewer overflow in Neptune you just have to see.

#2 The aftermath is worse than the storm

The aftermath is always worse than the storm because natural disasters are smart and people are complete idiots. That’s likely why so many tornados strike trailer parks.

Right now, Seminole county is rough. It’s hot, half the population doesn’t have electricity and people are morons who don’t know how to drive without traffic signals. It’s like they forgot everything they ever learned in driver’s ed. Just an FYI, if you’re ever at a Florida intersection and the lights are out due to a storm, there’s a simple way to determine the right of way.

It’s based on whoever is waving the largest gun.

#3 Reporters are idiots

Newscasters apparently have no sense of self-preservation. Through the storm, every channel was the same. Some windswept, soaking wet reporter shouting into a microphone “the police say it’s incredibly dangerous out here and no one should be on the road. That’s why they’ve barricaded it, but we managed to slip the News 17 van in to —” mike cuts out, fade to black.

How much you want to bet those same reporters, who apparently thought they were above the law, will complain about the lack of response time from first responders in some news special a week from now?

The only thing about them that annoyed me more was their aftermath interviews.

Picture it. A trailer park in Altamonte, waist-deep water, a sad man watching as all his possessions float down the street in a stagnant pool and out to the Atlantic. Some chick shoves a camera in his face.

“Sir, I see the aftermath is really bad. Tell me, how do you feel?”

Just once, I want someone to answer “How the fuck do you think I feel, you stupid bitch?”

# 4 Tethering is awesome

For me, one positive to come out of this storm is that I learned about tethering. I used to think my cell phone was only for playing Bubble Witch or texting randos pictures of my tits. Turns out, if you jailbreak it (rooting for Android users) you can turn it into a hot spot where you can use all that delightful unlimited cell phone data on your laptop, smart tv, whatever. It’s free!

I’m pretty sure it’s illegal but I don’t give a fuck. I’m living in a disaster zone, people. This is an emergency. Season 6 ended on a cliffhanger.

 

 

 

Drinking Round the World

 

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This is what Epcot looks like when you pass out in the parking lot

Epcot is one of the few Disney establishments I like. It’s got nothing to do with what they offer. Nope, when you pay the $100 cover charge to get into Epcot, you’re mainly paying to get into a bunch of gift shops with equally overpriced crap. It’s not their rides. The one I did go on managed to combine my two most hated things; Martin Short and Canada.

It was like the “It’s a small world” ride at Disney, only far more boring and twice as annoying.

So despite the annoying merchandizing, shitty rides and foreign tourists, I still manage to like Epcot. Know why?

Drinking around the world, motherfuckers.

See Epcot has cashed in on the one thing adults like when they’re forced to go to a Disney Park. Alcohol. No joke, I will tolerate endless amounts of Jasmine and Nemo, provided I’m allowed to get loaded in the process. And in Epcot, they offer something amazing.

The ability to drink in every last country that they’ve created based on an Americanized stereotype.

japan epcot

So the opportunity to both get super wasted and be offensive to foreigners in one fell swoop? Consider me in. Well played Epcot. Well played.

Anywho, we started off in Canada. As I’d been drinking heavily the night before, my brother became concerned as I developed the sweats while chugging a very heavy Moosehead Ale. But he had no idea. I was simply getting my early second wind.

See, me and my brother, we’re about as different as two people could be. He’s a republican. I’m a paranoid libertarian. He has a real job where he’s important and takes phone calls on the weekend. I would be both shocked and horrified if any one of my clients called me on the weekend. He’s a clean freak and I’m pretty sure I’ve grown a new form of bacteria in my toilet. He’s a health nut who regularly goes to the gym.

The last time I went to the gym was March of 2013. I needed to use their vitamin water machine to get something to mix with my booze.

So being the healthy, trim dude he is, it’s completely reasonable that he thought he’d be able to out drink me through 13 countries. What he didn’t get was 13 drinks isn’t really a challenge to me.

I call that Tuesday.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I treat my body like a temple. And by temple, I mean one of those wild, drunken orgy bathhouses in ancient Rome. I can’t remember the last time I actually ate solid food.   When I did, I assume it was some kind of fried meat. I don’t do vegetables. As far as I’m concerned, vegetables are nothing more than the product I use to lure my meat into a fryer.

As a result, my body adapts. My shriveled, probably green liver, isn’t even part of the process anymore. The booze goes right to my stomach, then slides its way into my bladder thanks to a heavy coating of cholesterol.

It’s important to have a system.

Anyway, we made it through all the countries in Epcot before passing out on the ground near the giant golf ball. At that point, I led him out to the parking lot to find our mom’s car.

You ever heard of the blind leading the blind? Well, this was the drunk leading the drunk. My brother passed out in a parking spot as I wandered like Mad Max leaving Thuderdome until I wound up in a Wet & Wild Parking lot about 4 miles away…where I led a small nation of people who had also lost their cars forever.

After about two hours of drunk wandering, I finally found our car…about 3 spaces from where my brother passed out in the first place.

So I did the reasonable thing. I loaded his ass into the back seat, peed behind the back tire, and called our mom to take us home.

Because drinking around the world is no joke. It’s hard. Going in there unprepared is a bit like attempting to run the Boston Marathon after one spinning class.

You can’t just jump into that shit. Your body needs practice. You need to know if you’re ready

Here’s a test to help you decide;

  1. Have you ever drunk mouthwash after you ran out of beer?
    1. Yes
    2. No
  2. Do you consume more than four drinks a week?
    1. Yes
    2. No
  3. After a heavy night of drinking, have you ever woken up and used more alcohol as any ‘eye opener”?
    1. Yes
    2. No

Ok, so those questions? Copied off of a “do you need AA” website. If you answered all yesses, I’ve got good news and bad news. Bad news first; you’re probably an alcoholic.

Good news? You can totally handle drinking around the world.

Rock on Epcot, rock on.

 

 

 

 

 

So You’re Moving to Florida…

In about a month, I will be leaving Florida to take on the great, classy city of Las Vegas. I get the urge to change states every 4 years or so to outrun all my warrants take in new scenery.

Anyway, most of the people you will meet in Florida are transplants. In the years I have been living here, I have only met 1 or 2 ‘born and bred’ Floridians. Everyone else came from freezing cold states, and were lured here with the promise of eternal summer.

I have to agree that the weather is beautiful. As most of my friends are shoveling out their driveway, I sit here in flip flops and complain when the weather gets below 60.

But there are a few things that I wish someone had told me when I first moved, and now I’m going to share those things with you.

#1. Only hookers wear panty hose in the Sunshine State.

With weather that tops 100 on a daily basis, and an average 90% humidity rate, most people are practical enough to forgo an extra layer of nylon covering when they go out. The ones who don’t are the ladies who need to hide their varicose veins and track marks. Unless you’re looking to get solicited by a car full of college boys, leave the tights and pantyhose at home.

Seems weird that the people who wear the most pantyhose are also the ones who need to take it off the most.

Seems weird that the people who wear the most pantyhose are also the ones who need to take it off the most.

#2. Never trust the outside appearance of a neighborhood

As an apartment dweller, I’ve always been careful to avoid places with bars on the windows or mattresses in the yard. But Florida landlords are getting wise to that and now slap enough window dressing on any apartment complex to fool prospective tenants into moving into a ghetto neighborhood.

17 inch Kobe rims on a $900 car? Why the hell not...

17 inch Kobe rims on a $900 car? Why the hell not…

How to avoid it? When looking for a place to live, don’t look at the landscaping in the complex. Look at the cars in the parking lot. If you spot more than one 1998 Corolla with window tint, spinning rims and a stereo system that Blue Books for more than the car is worth, move on.

#3. There is no such thing as an ‘outdoor’ pet.

You won’t see a lot of stray cats roaming the neighborhoods in Florida. Here, stray cats are alligator food and they will not last very long. The only people who leave their animals outside in Florida are the meth dealers who need to leave their Rottweilers outside to protect their meth labs.

Believe it or not, this story has a happy ending.

Believe it or not, this story has a happy ending.

#4. Rudeness saves lives

Florida comes in at a hefty third place, right behind California and New York, for the most victims of serial killers. Remember these two words; Fuck ‘em.

But you only get the free candy if you help him find his lost puppy...

But you only get the free candy if you help him find his lost puppy…

A person broken down on the side of the road and they’re trying to flag you to stop? Fuck ‘em. A person knocking on your door looking for their lost dog? Fuck ‘em. A person in a cast wants help carrying their groceries? Fuck ‘em.

Yeah, I know it sounds terrible, but I don’t care. I’d rather a stranger think I’m rude than some Buffalo Bill nut job think I’m an easy target.

#5. ‘Palmetto bug’ is Floridian for ‘creepy assed flying cockroach’.

A Palmetto bug, aka the Periplaneta Americana, is a member of the arthropoda phylum and resembles a cockroach with the same approximate size as a small dog. While they do not bite, the first time you have one fly into your face in retaliation for spraying it with Raid, expect to be scarred for life. I’m not fucking around people. It will haunt you to your grave.

They can survive a nuclear holocaust…and they can fly. We are all fucked.

They can survive a nuclear holocaust…and they can fly. We are all fucked.

#6. Manatees do not exist

I think they are some kind of fake endangered species made up by a corrupt Florida official in order to get government funds for preservation. While I have no statistical proof, I can tell you that I have been to 3 manatee festivals and have yet to see one actual live manatee.

Essa hasn’t seen it = Doesn’t exist

Essa hasn’t seen it = Doesn’t exist

#7. All your neighbors will be nuts.

Again, something about the heat drives people nuts here. In my short time in my middle class apartment I’ve seen;

  • A guy try to light his girlfriend’s place on fire…while completely nude
  • A high speed chase, ending in a police standoff in my neighborhood, where the man claimed to be receiving secret messages from the children’s show “Yo Gabba Gabba.”
  • An invitation to join a cult
  • Another note telling me I’m going to hell for not joining said cult
  • A bronies convention (Google it)
  • A six foot red headed Asian woman with 6 toes on her right foot, who will gladly show the mutation to anyone for $1

If you don’t have any crazy neighbors in your Florida neighborhood, guess what? You are the crazy neighbor.

Florida has been fun, and it’s given me a lot of material, but its time to move on. For anyone about to move to “The Penis of America” (<- slogan is copyright of Essa Alroc) , I hope my guide will prepare you for what is sure to be a memorable stay.