So much to tell you about, sweet things. I've had such a great and busy past few days. But first I want to tell you what happened to my brother on Friday.
Kyle is the blonder and more sober version of me. He kind of floats through life with, as far as I can tell, the mindset of a 12-year-old suddenly thrown into a 21-year-old's body. Anyways, this is what happens when my little brother goes boating.
Kyle and his work buddies were out on a boat (I'm guessing in the Puget Sound) and everyone is enjoying the scenery. Well, except for Kyle; Kyle becomes obsessed with a duck that is floating near the boat. His buddies challenge him to catch the duck and Kyle hops in the water to get it. The duck gets away but this just pisses Kyle off. After getting back on the boat Kyle goes "We're catching that fucking duck". My words coming out of an aryan body.
So this boatload of dweebs goes tearing ass around for half an hour after this damned duck. I can only imagine what the thing was thinking. "Quack. Why? Quack." They can't catch the duck and Kyle gets to his breaking point.
"Pull up along side the duck at full speed. I'm going to jump out and grab him and punch him and break his fucking neck, then I'm going to stuff the fucker and put him in my office." Good idea, dork.
So Kyle jumps off the side of the boat as they pass the duck going shitfuck fast. Only he doesn't tell the guy driving the boat that he's about to jump. Here's what happens when this scenario is set up.
While Kyle is in the air and before he hits the water, the boat turns sharply so that Kyle is now face to face with the front of the boat. As Kyle hits the water, the boat hits Kyle. Kyle's friends say they looked over the side and saw his legs "going really fast" in the opposite direction of the boats path. Kyle is shot underwater by the force of the boat for about 10 yards and suddenly pops up way the fuck away from it. He was O.K. but he didn't get the duck.
This is my new favorite Kyle story. Mom just called and asked how everyone was. "Kyle got hit by a boat" "What, what, what?" "Yeah, you should probably call him."
Onto the B news.
Work was work. A goateed man ignored elevator rules again today. This shit is getting weird.
Camping was super fucking great. After a late start (thanks to two late night Mickey's 40 oz.s) we got down to the state park in Ocean Shores. When we get there there is a huge sign that says "Camp Full". "This doesn't apply to us," I say, and I proceed to go find me a park ranger.
"Is the camp full?" I said.
"You know it's full; you saw that big brown sign," said the park ranger. And you can't sweet talk a park ranger, friends. They've heard it all. "C'mon, sweet stuff, I'll let you see what I got for some kindling".
So, we went on to the next camping site. This place was like that scene in National Lampoon's Vacation, you know the one after the one where the two girls get high. Here's another conversation I had.
"Are you full?"
"Only tent spots we got are next to that table out there." Next to the table also meant next to the road, a thorny bush and this guys office. And this guy meant swatting flys and drool, he was all about that shit.
"You don't have any of those wooded areas?"
"What? No! Those are all gone, I just said that!"
"Yeah, I know."
So, we went to the next camping site. This place was like a yuppies wet dream. For 10 bucks you got a picnic table, a fire pit and your own personal log to sit on and tell ghost stories. We pitched our tent ... oh wait, about our tent. This thing is fucking precious. It became our common child. It's a two person trail tent from Coleman. It's one of those ones you'd see Boy Scouts from the 1950s using. It's this tiny red triangle thing with a yellow tarp bottom. It was so cute that I wanted to makeout with it.
After setting "Tenty" up, we headed out for the ocean. But this wasn't as easy as going to Myrtle Beach and falling in the Ocean, you lucky East Coast fuckers. We had to trudge through underbrush and then cross this treacherous log bridge across an inlet, which we let some teenagers cross before us. "What are you just going to watch us to see if it's safe?" "Fuck yeah I am." After that we had to trudge through sand that would sink about 6 inches with every step. After about 200 yards of this we finally reached the ocean, which was foamy brown and cold as a Minnesota handjob. (Great fucking simile, B).
It was gorgeous though. The waves were choppy and harsh. The wind made nipples hard in beach fashion but for different reasons. I needed a sweatshirt and boots instead of my t-shirt and flip flops.
Standing there on Danger Beach I realized that it would never be corrupted by dance clubs or cokehead bikini skanks. Never would this beach hear "Daddy, take me to the arcade" or "Hoooeee". It was perfect, and I felt like Leonardo DiCaprio having gotten there.
We walked along the beach looking for full sand dollars. I've never found an unfucked one. Maybe that is my lot in life. After a good while of looking we headed back. R. Girl fell into the inlet when the log bridge gave out under her. "Sucks for you," I said and decided to strap on a pair and just wade the fucker. I did, and I have the cock to prove it.
I showed baby doll how to play frisbee golf back at the camp. I ran barefoot through a patch of briars and got about a hundred stuck to the bottom of my feet. "Sucks for you," she said. Actually she said I looked cute pulling them out with the blood on my fingertips. Weird shit is cute to some people, man.
We then went and bought firewood from a very crazy old man on the side of the road. He told us he was the mayor of a Seattle subarb and that his face was on a statue of a very well hung dog. I don't understand either, dorks. He took me over to his truck and showed me how to judge the quality of firewood. By his standards, I have to say, he did have some fucking great firewood. He liked me and told me to "stay here" he wanted to give me something. "What could it be?" I thought as he started walking deep into the woods. Gold? A treasure map? A hatchet to my jugular? Nope, just more wood. But special wood he said to make our fire warmer.
Side note: This whole situation made me very nervous. However, R. Girl was having a fucking ball with this guy. After reading that "The name Brent means you suck" thing (posted below) the other night I have become worried that I will end up bitter and with a fucked up solar plexis. I have started taking cues from other people on how to handle situations that make me nervous, like crazy old men telling me they want to show me something. Normally I'd say "Not today, rapist" and run away. Instead I followed R. Girl's lead and laughed along.
We shook crazy fuck's hand and drove off. He can be found somewhere on the "what do they call it ... the intro-net?", but he couldn't remember where. Great guy.
I made fire. I am all that is beast and ape. I took wood and I built the blaze of blazes which cooked the meat of dead animals for me and my woman. I am a primal sweatshirted God.
We had an early night, doing nothing with Ramones Girl is a very full day. The less we do the more fun we have. It's perfect for being a cheap anxiety-ridden ass.
The tent started dripping condensation at some point in the night and when we woke up everything was wet. And not in the good way, dorks. I was up at 4 and had a fire going by the time the sun started to come up. We decided to skip the camping breakfast since we were both damp and grumpy and find us a Denny's.
All in all the camping trip was the shizzy and I think I could really like Ramone's Girl if things keep up the way they are. But, that's personal, so back off you tabloid fucks.
Other things to discuss:
-The Twins are 1.5 games back, baby fucks! They survived interleague play and can smell the spoils of the Fall Classic.
"My baby does the Homer Hanky!" Eh? Eh?
-No Inner Dialogue girl was suprisingly quiet today. "My stapler smells like toothpaste," was the extent of her observations. Although she did stab at me with her pen when I walked by her desk. We've never even talked and she's trying to stab me. There goes my solar plexus.
-Eva Moore is super cool. Check our her fun adventures in linguistics and sexy alternativeness at www.clevertitle.150m.com
-I downloaded some stuff from www.suicidegirls.com from Kazaa Lite. I was expecting buck naked goth girls going at it with Barbie Dolls and whips. Instead I find out it's like some kissing, a couple tit shots and mostly just chicks telling stories like "I like punk music" or "One time I had to walk down a hill". What a gip. I'm starting my own porn site. It's going to be www.chickswhorocknextdoortoyourwhileyouarewatchingseinfeld.com Coming soon.
I grow weary of writing now. I'm going to go play frisbee golf. I love you.

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