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Pirating the Caribbean: The Curse of the WOLFMAN


So the Not So Newlywed Game!... Well, it was fairly harmless. There were three couples brought up on stage: One couple in their twenties on their honeymoon, one married for something like 20 years, and one couple married for over 60 years. Then the women were left sitting in chairs on stage while the men were escorted behind the curtain into a "soundproof room," and the complete rip-off of Bob Eubanks' should-have-stayed-dead classic show was hoisted upon us all like a car wreck peppered with bodies of mutilated and mangled clowns; you couldn't look away, and you couldn't help but laugh, but all for the wrong reasons.

The cruise director thought herself to be the funniest fuck since Dave Chapelle first immitated Lil' Jon, but she really couldn't even match Carlos Mencia's gift for entertaining the masses. In other words I'd rather watch two gay bears fuck each other in the woods as they roll around in their own feces than listen to her any more. Hell, I'd rather those shit-covered bears kill me then fuck ME... Or even fuck me THEN kill me. God she was unfunny.

Anyway, the only thing that made the show watchable in the least was that couple who had been married for over 60 years. Both just said whatever the fuck was on their minds, and the husband would often ramble on for about 5 minutes — seemingly way off topic — only to bring his fantastic point home in a brilliant punchline... Then the cruise director would try to jump in with a lame comment or quasi-joke of her own in order to pretend that some of the laughter that the old man got was partly hers.

After that mess the Wolfman and I stayed in the main theater for movie night. They said they were showing Live Free or Die Hard; unfortunately they lied. That hacked up abomination that they projected on the big screen was NOT LFoDH. They edited out every PUNCH, GUN SHOT, "Damn," EXPLOSION, and even some instances of techno dialogue. What the fuck!? They must have cut out at least 15 minutes from that movie — which was ALREADY PG-13 to begin with. Seriously, what was the point? They were showing unedited PG-13 movies on the in-ship TV channel during the day, but this 11PM movie presentation warranted a hack job that would make Freddie Krueger proud? Who the fuck did they think they'd offend with a helicopter getting hit by a car? The only reason to WATCH LFoDH is for the action and the violence (since it never had any real profanity to start with).

Anyway, I didn't have anything better to do than to stay there and yell out "What the GODDAMN FUCK?! McClane PUNCHED that bitch when I saw this in the theater! And, what?! How did that guy get bloody if nobody shot him?!" at the screen seeing as I had to stay up all night anyway. So there I sat. But around halfway through the movie I started to notice something; it seemed like the flick being projected had some rocking sound vibrations going on. I started to FEEL the movie. Every loud noise seemed to vibrate the entire room and make one physically feel like they were part of the production. It wasn't until the credits began to roll and we all got up from our seats that we realized what was going on: The ship was rocking back and forth like a fat chick on a marshmallow bed trying to roll over (in order to eat it). We had hit a pretty violent tropical storm (you really had to fight and strain to open the doors to the outside decks, the winds and rain were so bad). It felt like being on the S.S. Minnow in the opening to Gilligan's Island.

Long before I had even thought of taking a cruise I had been told by dozens of people that I "won't even know [I'm] on the water, even if the ship hits any kind of rough weather; it's like a floating skyscraper. You won't feel a single wave." Bullshit. Things were rolling off tabletops and it felt like I was royally drunk, except without the pleasure of downing any insanely overpriced beer. The whole fucking ship felt like it was a giant teeter-totter. I even saw 7 people puke from the effect that night. Most in the hallways. Faaaaaaaaaantastic.

Late that night, after doping up on Dramamine (thanks again, gals!) I found myself trying to climb the endless staircases and try not to get slung around the deserted hallways like that guy at the end of that Altered States movie — banging back and forth between the walls. Once the meds kicked in though (meds which were followed by a half a liter of vodka disguised as agua) I started feeling really good, and I thought I was surfing the hallways for REALZ!

Honestly, I don't remember how I got this shot, but I do remember thinking that the still photo would totally capture the feel and rollicking awesomeness of a ship in the middle of being Poseidon Adventured in the center of the uncaring sea. Instead I just look like a moron.

So after making a mental note to NEVER eat anything I happened to drop on the floor of a cruise ship I headed back to the aft for some late night pizza (I was hungry again, and I'm surprisingly resilient to any kind of motion maladies). It was there that I bumped into Gator Babe and Beaumont again. They had just woken up. At 1:30AM. Awesome. Apparently they'd gotten up at 2PM the previous afternoon, drank by the pool, slept again, then were rudely awakened by the ship's hyper-rolling. Seriously, this was some serious rocking; at one point a girl in the nearly empty cafeteria at a table behind us shrieked and flung herself onto the bolted-down table screaming "OH MY GOD! We're going to FLIP! We're going to flip over, aren't we?! Oh shit, we're gonna DIE!" I wish to Christ I had that terror-squeal saved to an audio file.

Anyway, after explaining to the two girls I was with why I was up this late again (I got some sympathy points for the Wolfman's snortling snores), Gator Babe told me all about how they had just bumped into Raisin Sack from the previous day. They showed me a picture one of them had taken with her camera phone of him and his prize for the night: a 5'2", 240-pound, shaved sasquatch. Way to go, Raisin Sack!

We talked for a while, but it soon became very apparent that Beaumont was not doing so well. I always thought that cartoon characters getting seasick and turning green was strictly a fictitious event — it is not. If I was a dick I would have taken a picture of Beaumont's unlucky and emerald-hued face for proof, but alas I am a gentleman, and to be honest I thought I felt a little wooziness creeping up on even my cast-iron stomach after that double-pepperoni I had just woofed down. So thanks to my pity points that I had built up the girls took me back to their cabin for some heavy meds (that they brought with them onto the ship). We passed another fresh vomity accident on the way back to their cabin (which was unfortunately at the very front of the vessel, just above the waterline.... We moved up and down 5 feet with every vengeful swell), but soon I had the Dramamine in my clutches and all my fears of my insides abandoning ship faded away. Though I did almost lose it when I tried to swig the pill(sssss) down with what I thought was a bottle of Aquafina. To my delight and fear it was not; but that didn't stop me from finishing it up and then replacing the empty container with tap water (figuring I'd be far away when they discovered the difference).

The girls were generous with their meds and drink, but it was obvious that they needed some more rest (what tipped me off was when Gator Babe fell asleep in her bed and Beaumont kept running back to the bathroom with her hair pulled back), so I returned to the pizzeria in the rear at around 3:30. Things onboard were even worse at this time. I passed (at a jog) 3 more people upchucking in the hallways, saw flowers swiveling back and forth in their vases, the pools on the top-most outside decks were sloshing their contents all over the place, and people were getting thrown and banged into the walls up and down the ship well past 6:30 that morning.

Finally 7:10 rolled around, but I just couldn't wait for the good breakfast to start up at 8, and I wasn't that hungry at that point anyway. I was just sick and tired, and the ship was still rolling a little bit (though not as bad as it had been). I walked back to my cabin to wakey-wakey the Wolfman, and then I walked into our bathroom... I stopped at the open door.

Me (over my shoulder to the Wolfman, still in bed): You okay? You feeling better?

Wolfman: What?... What'dya mean?

Me: Ummmm, didn't you, um, well, puke your guts out last night?

Wolfman: How did you know? I thought I cleaned it up real good like.

Holy fuck. If that was cleaned up real good I'd hate to have seen it BEFORE he tidied up. There were puke bits all over the place, on the ground, sink, toilet, not to mention the lingering scent. Oh man, that almost caused me to lose my cookies.

I chased the Wolfman out for a quick 2 hours of catnapping, and then the Cozumel on-shore excursion was upon us. I swear to Jesus that we were on some sort of Mexican hidden-camera show filmed by Ashton Kutcher's rip-off South of the Border cousin.

The shore excursion that the Wolfman and I chose for Cozumel was to explore the Mayan ruins of Tulum. And apparently EVERY gift shop between the port and the pyramids (which were like 2 hours away by shitty Mexican bus [or autobus]). Here we can see me in the 4th stop on the way to Tulum, and I swear that they just packed up all the rocks and trinkets from the first 3 stops and raced us to this one to try and hawk them to us again.

Yes, most of these things were chiseled by a true artist, and many of them were made of that special rock that looks black in the shade, but appears to be shiny gold in the daylight, but the cheapest rock-mask was $200 (American). The most expensive I found was over $3,000. And on top of shitting out your cash for them you still needed to fill out a mountain of paperwork just to be able to get them back on the ship.

I just looked up "Mayan sculptures" on Ebay five minutes ago and found some that looked just as nice as the ones in Mexico for $15. Probably sold by the same people that are peddling them along the road on the way to Tulum.


So we left the ship (into a gorgeous, blue-sky-filled day.... Where all that shitty weather went I had no idea) and took a passenger ferry over to the mainland (Cozumel being an island, Mr. Geography). Then the strangeness began.

First of all, our tour guide (whose name I thought I'd never forget, but apparently did) made it a point to tell us (every five minutes) that he was full Mayan.

Tour Guide: Pay attention! People, welcome to the Tulum tour. I am your guide today and, PAY attention! As chu might be able to guess by looking at me, I am 100%, full-blood Mayan. Pay attention! And now-

Some old, fat bitchy tourist: Wait, but I thought the Mayans was all extinct and dead...

Tour Guide: No! Pay attention! That is not a truth! No! And another false truth is that the place where chu are right now... This very land... This is not MEXICO. Pay attention! This is not Mexico! Mexico is the name of a STATE in this country. This state we are in now is Quintana Roo. Do not tell your friends back home that chu went to Mexico if this is the only place chu visited. No! Saying that this right here, this land, is Mexico is like me going to New York City and telling my friends, "Oh, yes, I just came back from WASHINGTON D.C.!" Pay attention!

Me: Excuse me?... Um, really, isn't this country AND one of its states called Mexico? So, like, it would be the equivalent of you going to New York City and saying, "Hey, muchachos! I was just in America!" or "Hey, compadres! I was just in los Estados Unidos!" Why would you call New York City Washington D.C.? That would just make you a-

Tour Guide: Pay attention! Chu, boy, sit down! Anyway, so does anybody know what "Yucatan" means in Mayan? It means "come here! Listen to him speak!" ALL the white man's names for EVERYTHING in this land are wrong! Chu should all be ashamed! The white man is the devil! A STUPID devil!

That bus ride seemed to go on forever — stopping at shops that sell nothing but "authentic" Mayan rocks and T-shirts — and it didn't even allow any time for any shut-eye since our guide never shut up for one minute the entire trip. We eventually got to the ruins (well, the T-shirt shops in front of the ruins), but we were told that to get to the actual historical site we'd have to either walk for about two miles down a dirt road, or pay one of our tour guide's buddies $10 to take us on a tractor ride to the Mayan remains. I thought, "Pffft! Two miles, no prob!" And against our guide's warnings I set off. I got to the entrance wall in about 6 minutes (it usually takes me 15 minutes to casually walk one mile), and then waited for the rest of the tour group to catch up. After 20 more minutes that gay little tractor and the hollowed out bus it was towing pulled up alongside me. I then laughed at the Wolfman for parting with $10 for the honor. He said it was worth it because the ride back was included.


We had to wait for our guide to give us another long schpiel about not pushing anybody off the seaside cliffs, not video-taping anything without a permit (which only cost about $30... Ugh), and not climbing on any of the old ruins. THAT caught my attention. The entire reason I chose this shore excursion was to get a picture of me on top one of those old, crusty pyramids with the Wolfman either pretending to rip my heart out of my chest, or possibly with some hot co-tourist boning me for a shot wherein I'd say it was a royal sex temple or something. What the FUCK!?!

This shot was the best human sacrifice pose I could get on these holy lands and near these ancient structures. Sad really. What was even sadder was that I had forgotten that the Wolfman was the LAST person in the world that one should ever get to take a well planned-out photo. Vegas still haunts me.

Anyway, I set this whole shot up, figured out where the picture-taker had to stand in order to get my face, my hand, and the entire pyramid behind me in the picture. Then I waited for some of the touristy folks to get the hell away from the area (which was on a narrow path right on a cliff) before telling Wolfy to hurry up and take the shot. Thankfully I had a digital camera with me so that this time I could see that the Wolfman had just taken a picture of the top of my hat and the top left most tip of the stone edifice behind me. After patiently re-explaining what I was looking for, and telling him just where to stand and how to aim the camera for what I needed I ended up with a zoomed in shot of my chest and my pinky. He took similar pictures three more times (which I can only assume were all done on purpose) before some cute girl with five cameras around her neck left her husband's side, pushed the Wolfman away and nailed the shot (what's seen above) even better than how I had originally set it up. She let me see the photo for approval before looking at the Wolfman like he just stepped in some Chupacabra excrement. The Wolfman then looked at the digital display of the most perfect picture, growled and said something like, "Fucking puta... Thinks she's so cool. 'Oh! Look at me! I can takes a picture!' I'LL fucking take a picture of YOU.... At the bottom of the cliff...."

That's when I walked away telling the Wolfman I'd see him back at the bus, after his gay tractor ride down the 1/5 mile road.

After being told that we had to stay on the paths, couldn't approach any of the ruins, and couldn't video-record anything without a heavy tax, we were allowed into the walled-off world. Yes, it was rather impressive I must say, but it was obviously NOT the Mayan ruins that I thought it was going to be. I thought that the tour was for the giant, steep, able-to-walk-upon-them pyramids of Chichen Itza. It obviously was not. I'm obviously a moron, but what else is new.

All in all I ended up taking more pictures of and for other people than for myself, but I didn't really feel too comfortable there during our 30 minutes of free time seeing as our guide made it perfectly clear to us all that "We have to get chu back to the ship in time! Chu MUST get back to the autobus by 3:15PM! We WILL leave chu if you are not there, 'cause if the autobus is late the shore-to-ship boat is late, and then SO IS THE CRUISE SHIP!" The guide even had a large group of non-English or Spanish-speaking Koreans repeat this last part several times in broken Korengrish until it seemed that they could recite it back to him. Despite all this we still waited on the bus until 3:40 for those Koreans to nonchalantly wander back. Honestly...

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