I had a most excellent breakfast (Eggs Benedict, if you must know, served by my cutie Asya again [who remembered my lovelorn shenanigans from the previous night! I was so sleep deprivedly happy!]), but the whole table that I ate with that morning was completely different from the previous night, both in actual company and personality. Nobody talked to each other, and we all spent a good part of our meal throwing "eat shit and die" glances at the helpless couple whose 4 year-old son/daughter (Christ, that kid looked and sounded like a girl, but they kept calling [more like screaming actually] "Caleb! No!" and "Caleb, put down that fork and eat your eggs," and even "Caleb, stop stabbing mommy!") was the poster child for overboard children. Don't feel sorry for Caleb's egg and sperm donors though, those pathetic helicopter parents ordered that little shit 5 meals (and these meals filled a full plate each), and all he did was eat one bite of toast inbetween crawling under the table and biting people's legs. What a goddamn waste (of food and genetic material). The only thing that kept me from spanking that little wanker myself when he/she/it purposefully dumped half a glass of orange juice at Asya's feet was the knowledge that his parents would have been off the hook for the rest of their lives if I spanked him on his head with a crowbar like I wanted to. No. There would be no justice in that. They'll be covering for Caleb's cocaine addiction and wife-beating charges when he's in his forties and they're in their 70s, so help me GOD!
After picking Caleb-thrown scrambled eggs and Froot Loops out of my hair I gave Asya a love spanking of her own and marched out of the dining room and down to the front desk. There was nobody there so I rang the bell by throwing it against the the far wall. A cute girl with a shit-eating grin then appeared and asked what she could help me with. A short aside here: Despite what you may have heard, the female staff of these cruise ships (of whom, 98% are foreign hotties from every corner of the globe) do NOT like getting hit on, nor do they enjoy their lives at sea from what I can tell. They do like to slap men and step on their shoes when they're not behind a counter. Anyway, Leeka (I think that was her name) asked if there was anything else that she could help me with after informing me that my first request was "unacceptable."
I swear that I didn't know that security was allowed to carry tazers with them. I wouldn't have fought that hard and I sure as fuck wouldn't have taken a swing at that old gawker if I knew I'd be involuntarily crapping my pants as a result.
I went back down to my cabin at about 8:50 to wake the Wolfman up and tell him my plan for the rest of the trip. He was still snoring like a blender with a baby in it — it was a meaty and almost mechanical sound. Very disturbing. It was like he was gargling with ground beef in his throat. I woke him up (with two glasses of water on his face) and explained to the half-man half-beast that I would take the night shift from here on out (staying up all night so that he could sleep), and in turn when I woke him up in the morning he'd have to give me at least 5 hours of shut eye without interruption. He groggily agreed, and then put his head back on his pillow. After two more glasses of water I informed him that his day shift was beginning right then.
Those snores though!... Thinking back on them I still have to totally question their authenticity. The guttural GROWLS that the Wolfman was putting out... They were simply too loud to be genuine. Like how kids fake being asleep with phony snores, thinking that the louder they make them the more real they must sound. And before he left for breakfast that day he actually asked me again if I wasn't making up this story about his "supposed snoring." I explained it to him once again, even imitating his sounds as best I could without gagging. Then the Wolfman responded, "Hmmmm, I guess I must get it from my dad. He snores real loud too. So much so that I can't share a hotel room with him anymore when we travel. Keeps me awake so durn bad." Then he closed the door behind him and I put my face in my hands and cried.
GATOR BABE GETS A BARNACLE
I slept fairly well till about 3 in the afternoon (there was nothing going on during the day anyway as it was just a full day at sea), got up and showered, ate a late lunch and then just bummed around for a while.
Later on I found out about the Captain's Gala being held that evening. It wasn't a Captain's Dinner or anything cool sounding like that (with a long table of distinguished guests being entertained by the Captain's ribald tales of bawdy sex slaves, or his frequent and hilarious explosions of flatulence), but instead it was a bunch of people dressing up in tuxedos and evening gowns (three sizes too small.... I don't like reliving the sights that night) apparently standing around eating cocktail finger foods looking for complete strangers to talk to. The Wolfman and I instead chose to simply wait for our real dinner and pig out there.
Our 8 cute co-diners kept the mood light and the conversation flowing that night. I'm telling you: Greatest Table on the Ship. Fuck you, 209! You commie fucks!
After dinner a good portion of us skipped over to the Paris Lounge for the (horribly lip-synched, gayly danced [but with absolutely gorgeous dancers]) big musical production entitled "SHOUT!" *Ugch!*... That was me dry heaving. It was very lame, but a decent enough waste of time (compared to getting bamboo shoots under one's fingernails). It was an hour of pop music from the 50s through the 70s... Why they stopped before they got to any excellent 80s themes I have no idea. Yeah, they would have butchered any Van Halen or Twisted Sister had they tried, but at least I could have sung along.
Then the funny comedian from the previous night did his "Over 18" show. I have to admit, that fat fuck was damn hilarious. Yeah, he still had lots of jokes about being fat, but they were all good, funny fat jokes. Didn't think there were any left. Who knew? The "over 18" in the title of his act meant that he could talk about "fucking a ham and then eating it so that [his] wife wouldn't get suspicious." Trust me, his delivery (and the way he acted it out and even stopped telling his story so that we could all "booooooo!" some stupid parent and his whining little kid out of the theater who were too stupid to stay for the naughty show [I think it was Caleb]) really sold it.
Then it was over and I found that I had 6 hours to kill before breakfast and shore excursions at our first stop at Grand Cayman. I cursed the Wolfman and his ability to then go off to slumberland as I headed back to the 24/7 cafeteria at the back of the boat. I just didn't feel like partying at that time. I think it was because I was starting to really get myself nervous about snuba diving the next day. It had been years since I last scuba/snuba'd, and back then I had a hard time getting used to the whole respirator thing quick enough to enjoy myself without drowning in 60 feet of water. We only had a short stint on shore, and I wanted to make sure that I got the most out of my time. Without drowning.
It was with that frame of mind that I found myself reading Drew Curtis' It's Not News, It's FARK book and listening to my iPod'd radio shows in a dark, quiet corner of the empty restaurant. I wasn't absorbing much of my reading or programs, but luckily at around 2:30 Gator Babe and Beaumont showed up. Only prob was they were drunk as two sorority girls at a frat party on "Rape Night".
Despite their inebriation (or because of it?) they were very pleasant company. Usually I need to be drunk too in order to appreciate drunk company, but the half hour with those two was quite fun. I'd spent a good portion of the time trying to explain to Beaumont the idea behind FARK, and how 99% of all supposed news really wasn't news, but was crap, only to have the two of them take a bite or two of pizza and then ask me, "No, really, wuzzz FARK? FfffffffffffffARK! Mmmmm, I loves me some FARK!"
I was starting to think that I'd love me some FARK too, when Raisin Sack showed up. Holy fuck... Raisin Sack was this 6'4", mouth-breathing gorilla with arms bigger than my legs (I measured) and pants so tight that if he was actually packing anything between his legs, trust me, we'd have been able to see it. Every bulge and vein.
Apparently Raisin Sack had been dancin' the night away with Gator Babe in the late night disco, and he had been buying her drink after drink "to make her happy" for a few hours before she and her friend decided that they needed some pizza and just left. This did not make Raisin Sack happy. Want to know what made Raisin Sack even less happy? Yeah, that'd be me — the guy whose shoulder Gator Babe was leaning her head on while I tried to feed her a slice of greasy pepperoni.
To his credit though Raisin Sack did not give up his staked claim without a fight. Personally, I was fine just talking to Beaumont about how much the media sucks and why Hillary Clinton and George W. are both equal and giant turd sandwiches, but Raisin Sack kept bringing me into the conversation.
Soon he started ignoring me, but I started listening in on his then personal conversation with Gator Babe when it got too hilarious to not. Oh my GOD! This guy was a fucking walking cliché of asshatery AND a giant douchebag! He was rambling on about how he used to play high school football (he didn't ever score 4 touchdowns in one game for Polk High though. I asked), and how he was on the same team as some new NFL uber-talented phenom who just got signed for $4million somewhere. I forgot his name.
That's when I noticed that Raisin Sack started turning red with rage. I had honestly never seen this happen before. He was getting so pissed off at my cock-blockery that his face was turning crimson and veins were popping out of his neck and forehead. I didn't know what I was going to do at that point. If I kept pushing him and he actually flipped I was a dead man. There's no way any security guards with tazers would have been able to get to me in time. My only hope would have been to run and lead him to the poop deck, hide, and when he started looking around in retarded confusion PUSH him over the railing. Luckily it didn't come to that as Beaumont came to my rescue by dividing his anger between me and her.
The few off-duty crewmembers and a couple of guys getting some ice-cream in the room then started looking at us. I thought that ol' Sacky would get intimidated by the attention and leave us alone, but he soon calmed down and had his resolve rekindled when he noticed that Gator Babe's eyes were starting to close. He just couldn't give up after trying so hard thus far! I was growing tired of the apeman, and so I turned to Beaumont and said, "Ummm, shouldn't you two go to bed? (Eyes wide and pointing to the almost passed out Gator Babe) It's late."
"What? No," Beaumont told me, "I'm really not..." That's when Raisin Sack actually licked his lips while staring at nothing but Gator Babe's cleavage and then reached out and started palming and stroking her thigh. "Yup!" Beaumont was up like her seat was electrified, and not in a good way. "Big day tomorrow! Beddy bye time! Bye, Rossman, (and almost under her breath) and dipshit..."
I waved the two of them off and then watched as Raisin sack tried to figure out what went wrong. It hurt to see him trying to understand why he wasn't getting any that night. Before he realized that I had anything to do with it I slipped out of the cafeteria and found my comfy chair on the sun deck from the night before. I listened to some more O&A, then had some intermittent Z's until 6.