JERK OF THE WEEK: Jerks of the Jersey Shore, 2015: Part 2
Last time on Jerks of the Week, I began talking about the Jersey Shore, but got sidetracked by our trip through the stinky, third-world country of Camden, as well as the fact that I was nearly run over by a**hole bikers on the boardwalk. My girlfriend and I had the rest of the day to lounge on the beach and wander around the boardwalk, so this entry will discuss that - unless, of course, I get sidetracked again.
The beach itself was a semi-bust in terms of finding jerks, which was depressing. We had a great time there, but I wish I could've found more writing material. Having said that, it wasn't a total loss, as I came away with two things worth discussing.
For the first, I have to flash forward to the following day when I went to the gym. Following my mile swim, I hopped into the baby pool/hot tub like I always do. I sat down, and... I WAS ON FIRE!!! I leapt out of the baby pool/hot tub and shrieked at the top of my lungs. The stoner lifeguard dude, who spends 95 percent of the time sleeping, actually moved upon hearing me yell. It was probably the most amount of movement he has ever done in his life. He didn't bother to ask what was wrong, or anything, because that would've required more energy than he possibly could've mustered.
So, what happened, you ask? My legs were completely sunburnt. I'm not talking typical sunburn here - they were bright red. In fact, I was lucky I didn't encounter any fat ladies that day, or they may have mistaken the lower part of my body for crab legs. I would've been in big trouble had one of the obese ladies grabbed her emergency jar of butter.
You might be wondering why I didn't put any suntan lotion on my body. The thing is, I did. I covered myself in it upon taking my shirt off. However, I neglected to cover my legs, and I did this intentionally. My girlfriend asked me the same question you're probably thinking right now...
Girlfriend: Your legs are all red! Why didn't you spray them?
Me: I thought the hair on my legs would cover them up.
Girlfriend: It doesn't work that way, Walt!
Oops. The hair on my head does a great job of shielding my scalp from the sun, so I figured that my leg hair would do the same thing. Stupid leg hair!
The second beach-related item has to do with another part of the body. I went into the ocean a few times, which wasn't exactly pleasant. On top of the water being extremely frigid, there was seaweed everywhere. It was disgusting, and there was no way to avoid it. I was constantly paranoid that there was seaweed in my swim trunks and that it would contain parasites that would attack my no-no-special place. Fortunately, my worrying was all for naught, as I still have complete control of my wang and ball sack.
During one of my trips into the ocean, I stopped what I was doing and started to pee. What, that's disgusting? You're disgusting! Anyway, as I was doing this, I overheard two dudes talking to each other. These guys were in their late teens or early 20s. They got close to each other, and one of the guys shouted something strange:
"Your nipples are hard!"
He then touched his friend's/man-lover's nipples. The guy who was getting his nipples touched exclaimed, "Your nipples are hard, too!"
Ugh, really? Look, gay dudes can boink whomever they please. I really don't care. But the last thing I want to see is two guys touching each other's nipples while I'm trying to urinate in the ocean. Can't they rent a hotel room and touch each other's nipples there? They can do so while watching Justin Bieber music videos, and everyone would win. They'd have their privacy, while I'd be able to piss in peace.
The worst part about this entire ordeal was that this easily could've been two chicks touching each other's nipples. Imagine the possibilities...
Hot Chick No. 1: Tee-hee, your nipples are so hard!
Hot Chick No. 2: Tee-hee, I know, your nipples are also hard!
Hot Chick No. 1: Tee-hee, I just want to lick your nipples! Can I?
Hot Chick No. 2: Tee-hee, oh yeah, please lick them! And let that guy peeing in the ocean watch us as we have hot lesbian sex!
Hot Chick No. 1: Tee-hee, OK, I want that guy peeing in the ocean to see everything!
Excuse me for a moment, I need to do something else with my wang.
Phew, OK. By 3 o'clock, it was time to get changed. We decided to do so in my girlfriend's car, rather than some crowded bathroom. As we were walking down to the parking lot, I was nearly run over again - this time, by some 10-year-old kids riding skateboards. I noticed that one of these kids had a cell phone, which seemed odd to me. My girlfriend thought the same thing.
"Why the hell do they have cell phones?" she asked. "Who is some 10-year-old going to call?"
I completely agree. Any parent who gives a child a cell phone prior to the age of 13 or 14 should be exiled from this country.
Not only were these kids spoiled; they were also a**holes. They stopped skateboarding when we were walking back to the boardwalk because, as one of them said, "Some dumb cop is watching us!"
So? You're not black, so it's not like you're going to get shot. What's the "dumb cop" going to do, tell your mommy that you were skateboarding without her permission? Big whoop.
Speaking of the "dumb cop," I had an encounter with him. I felt the urge to go to the bathroom again, but had to use the real restroom instead of the ocean because I was fully clothed. I walked up to the bathroom and saw him waiting.
Me: Hey, are you in line for the bathroom?
Cop: Yes, citizen.
Yes, "citizen?" OK, a**hole. Who are you to be calling random people "citizen?" It's not like you're a real police officer; you work in Ocean City, for crying out loud. Ocean City is a dry town where the worst crime that ever occurs is someone running another person over with a bicycle, so stop acting like a tough guy.
That's what I wanted to say to him. Unfortunately, he had a gun, and because I was so burnt from the beach, he may have confused me for a minority and shot me a dozen times as a consequence. That would've been bad.
I still can't believe he called me "citizen," though. The nerve. I never thought I'd agree with punk 10-year-olds who rock cell phones and skateboards, but he really is a dumb cop.
The Boardwalk - Young Bimbos and Beverages:
There weren't many interesting people on the boardwalk itself, but one couple caught my attention. My girlfriend actually pointed them out to be because they stood out. A gray-haired man, who looked like he was in his mid-50s, was holding the hand of a hot girl, who appeared as though she was still a teenager. My girlfriend guessed that she was 16.
Girlfriend: What are they doing together? They are like 40 years apart, and she's like 16!
Me: Good for him! He's my new hero!
In fact, I saluted the man when we walked by them a second time. He didn't see me, but that didn't surprise me. He was probably too busy wondering how he'd evade the law after getting caught banging a minor. Still though, good for him. If you're going to get locked up in prison, you might as well do it by banging hot teenagers.
At any rate, my girlfriend and I both had beverages worth writing about. I was parched, so I ventured toward the nearest soda machine in a store. They had the usual - Coke, Sprite, iced tea, etc. - but one drink in particular caught my eye: Sprite LeBron's Mix.
If you haven't heard of Sprite LeBron's Mix, there's a commercial where LeBron James announces that he has created a new flavor of soda. "I start by takin' my favorite soda, Sprite," he says, "And then I mix a li-bit orange flavor. Li-bit cheery flavor. Sprite LeBron's Mix."
Like I said, I was extremely dehydrated, so anything would've tasted good to me at that point. I could've had a jug of urine, and it would've been satisfying. Given that anything would've done the trick, I decided that I would try Sprite LeBron's Mix, simply out of curiosity. At the very worst, I could write about it in Jerks of the Week.
Well, here I am. Sprite LeBron's Mix is hot garbage. Don't even try it. It's just Sprite and orange soda mixed together. I'd rather have just a Sprite or just an orange soda. There's no reason to mix the two together at all.
My girlfriend wasn't surprised that I didn't enjoy Sprite LeBron's Mix. She's not the biggest fan of LeBron, and I can't exactly blame her because LeBron is a pretentious douche. To let you know how much she despises him, here's an actual conversation she had with her boss...
Boss: Did you watch the Phillies last night?
Girlfriend: No, but I watched the NBA Finals game.
Boss: Oh, I didn't realize you're into basketball!
Girlfriend: I'm not. It's boring.
Boss: So, why'd you watch?
Girlfriend: Because I hate LeBron, and I wanted to watch him lose.
My girlfriend didn't want a cold beverage; she actually was in the mood for coffee instead. So, we ducked into a coffee shop, which I loathed the instant I looked around. It was what a normal coffee shop looks like. They had bags of coffee bag beans everywhere to make it look artsy fartsy, and they had a chalkboard menu where the items were written out in different color chalk. New-age hippies probably splooge themselves every time they walk inside this place. It's a shame that the dumb cop can't confuse them with minorities and shoot them to make the world a better place.
My girlfriend waited for the cashier to ask her what she wanted, so I looked around. They had a soda machine of sorts as well, and I was growing tired of Sprite LeBron's Mix. I noticed that they had just bottled water and iced tea in there. I was fine with the latter until I looked closer and realized that all they had was green tea.
"F*** green tea!" I shouted, but no one heard me because no one was around. I ventured back to my girlfriend and asked if she had ordered yet.
"No," she replied. And the answer continued to be "no" for the next 10 minutes. This doofus behind the counter, a new-age hippie with curly, black hair, was mixing coffee beans or was doing something for the only customer ahead of us in line, some pregnant lady.
It was beyond ridiculous. This guy was completely oblivious to us, as well as the other people who were now standing behind us. He kept doing something stupid with the coffee beans he was messing around with. I wanted to shout, "Yo, a**hole, we've been waiting here forever!" but he may have summoned some tree-hugging douche bags to kick us out, and then my girlfriend wouldn't have gotten her coffee. Instead, this guy continued to attend to this pregnant lady. Isn't serving coffee to pregnant chicks illegal? What the hell was he doing?
While we waited, I scanned the menu and noticed something odd. One of the items was "milk." That's it. Just "milk." And it was on sale for $2.66 for an extra-large. Right underneath it was "chocolate milk," and an extra-large of that was $2.71.
Dafuq? First of all, what sort of establishment sells milk? I could see cartons of milk being available, but what sort of new-age hippie weirdo orders an extra-large glass of milk? Second, why is chocolate milk only five cents more expensive than regular milk? Everyone knows that chocolate milk is a colossal upgrade over regular milk. Chocolate milk should've been double, nay, triple the price of regular milk. So, either the regular milk was way too expensive at this shop, or the idiots in charge aren't making nearly as much as they could by selling chocolate milk at around $8 for an extra-large. Idiots.
It took another five minutes for someone to finally ask my girlfriend what she wanted. Some chick came from the back room and took her order. Another 10 minutes later - I wish I was exaggerating these timespans - my girlfriend finally had her coffee. It felt like we stepped out of a collective coma when we walked out of the store.
Girlfriend: I can't believe we were in there for a half hour!
Me: Yeah, seriously. Is your coffee good, at least?
Girlfriend: No! It sucks!
Somehow, I wasn't surprised. Minutes later, I noticed that she eyed my bottle of Sprite LeBron's Mix enviously. Suddenly, LeBron didn't look so bad.