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SEVERE IDIOCY REVIEW: Richy bitchy boats
Is there anything worse in the world than some drunken crowd of self-important moneyed losers hammering along at sixty miles an hour, fifty yards from the beach, chopping up your waves, murdering any life forms so unfortunate to get in front of their propeller, and moronically waving at the rest of us when they go by, thinking that we all want to trade places with them?
No. No way. No motherfucking way!
Rich guy boats. What a complete load of shit!
These things make Corvettes, fer chrissakes, look almost functional.
And the people who congregate around them are just beyond belief.
Here you have some idiot (most usually a guy, but not always), with a serious load of cash and a serious lack of clue. The dorf is so lame that the only way he'll ever manage to get laid is to fork over a quarter of a million on a boat that doesn't actually DO anything. Just sorta drives around in circles, trolling for pussy, and probably managing to fuck THAT up somehow.
I don't know about you, but I can't even CONCEIVE OF any lay that's gonna be worth the big half of a million dollars. The rest of us (the ones with social skills) never even IMAGINE having to do something that bizarrely lame just to get some bimbo to take off her pants. Hell, we don't even like bimbos anyhow. Personality and intelligence are a requirement, and that's that.
And, when you think of it, the bimbos on these boats are actually the SMART ones. Yes yes, I know I know, these women are born and bred in the ethos of "shop till you drop" and can't imagine themselves being seen in public without some kinda encrustation of hairdo, makeup, jewelry, and god knows what else. But think about it for a minute. They've managed to successfully rope in a jerk who's willing to spend literally hundreds of thousands of dollars on them, just on the shape of their butt and an occasional willingness to say, "Yes."
Not a bad trick, actually.
But it's no use.
The game is rigged against both sides and neither can quit.
A true Twilight Zone version of hell, eh?
Joe Rich Guy is doomed to a meaningless life, forking over extravagant sums of money, just to occasionally glom on to what all the rest of the world considers a more or less standard item. And, in a hellish twist, I'm guessing that almost none of the women they fetch up with are particularly good in the sack. My experience has been that the more a female devotes herself to FORM, the less she has left over to devote to FUNCTION. Your mileage may vary.
And Miss Bimbo isn't doing any better, either. I can't imagine Joe as being all that hot of a ticket, can you? She's made a deal with the devil and that's that.
And so, in a delicious irony, these idiots deserve each other. In spades.
Neither side gets any real satisfaction from their weird existence. They're drones, and somewhere down deep inside, they know it. "Hey, pass that bottle of scotch over here honey, would you?" But it's no good. No matter how blotted they get, eventually they're gonna have to wake up and face reality all over again.
No fun there, eh?
So, the next time you encounter members of this tribe, take heart. There, but for the grace of god, goes you.
And on the other hand, should you be unable to refrain from casting an envious eye in the direction of that stupid boat and the crew of even stupider people on board, you might wanna check yourself for a personality, and examine what passes for your social skills. You may have lost them somewhere along the line.
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A lifetime resident (despite having travelled all over the damn place at one time or another) of Central Florida, James MacLaren took a four-year degree in death thrills riding giant waves on the North Shore back in the 70's. Wound up in the inconvenience store following a lay off from the Cape, where he was involved with the construction of the Space Shuttle launch pads, among other things. Father of best son in the world.
