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Pirating the Caribbean: The Curse of the WOLFMAN


Upon reflection there were a few things that I thought were really strange about that Mexican Mayan tour (other than the fact that our guide was bat-caca loco, and obviously HATED tourists, yet still chose this as his profession). Number one: Our tour guide thought that the ancient Mayans were the most PERFECT beings to have every walked the planet (better than even William Wallace and Blackadder), despite the fact that they would FUCK UP BABIES' SKULLS by gradually flattening them with two heavy rocks until they eventually had the shapes of scary-looking coneheads ("This did not hurt the babies. Pay attention! This act was used when the child was to be a priest, or a wise man. This act of [baby smashing... my words, not his] made them smarter!".... Ummmm, there was absolutely NO fucking proof of this last claim except the fact that there were a ton of oblong-shaped skulls lying around Mayan burial grounds... For all we know this act of noggin-squashing turned them into drooling idiots who the ancient Mayans worshipped because they thought that only mongoloids could commune with the flying snake gods whose asses they kisses way back when).

The second thing that I thought was strange was that there was absolutely no talk about December 21, 2012: Judgement Day. See, the Mayan calendar (the most sophisticated date keeping system of the ancient world) claimed that the world would end on 12/21/12 by way of the Mu returning or a Jupiter-shaped object appearing around Tokyo, Japan or something. Not one word. Either this tour guide didn't do his homework on the really important shit and just cared enough about his job to learn the trivial stuff about just how dumb Europeans and Americans were, or he was just stupid or lazy, and simply making most of this crap up as he went along.

Those Mayans were so fucking advanced. How did they KNOW?!


After the Cozumel excursion I got back to the ship (which didn't leave without us... Seriously, wasn't too scared about that actually happening, but it did give me an excuse to berate those goddamn Koreans with horrible profanity the whole trip back), shaved, showered, and then napped for another 2 hours. Then it was dinner time (in which our whole table was back together that night). I must reimpress upon you just how incredible this food was: It was in-fucking-CREDITASTIC. I have never added so much weight so fast as I did that week. There was so much of it, and it was all so damn good. I had two more perfect steaks that night, and two desserts. No regrets. Well, one sort of regret. The entire wait staff got me (and about half of the diners) out of my seat to dance around the place like the uncoordinated fool that I am. But I figured that physical activity burned off one of the steaks I snarfed down that night. So there's that.

After eating, our entire table went into the main theater for the Talent(less) Show which was followed by the Costume Contest. The Talent Show was basically regular people just singing and dancing. There were about a dozen competitors and only one real singer of any talent, and one real dancer (who you actually didn't want to trip and land flat on her face). That 16 year-old girl who sang Carrie Underwood's song about beating the shit out of her boyfriend's car was the obvious choice for first place that night, but the (unfunny) cruise director refused to really acknowledge any clear winner. I think all the contestants got a shitty little plastic replica of the ship as an award despite how much applause or how many boos they got from the audience. There were a lot of boos. And one thrown beer bottle. I blamed the Wolfman for that.

There were a lot MORE boos though for the next portion of the night's entertainment: The Costume Contest... Made up of costumes that the attention-whoring contestants created using only materials available to them on the ship or in the ports of call — which meant they were all TERRIBLE. One guy wrapped himself up in toilet paper in what I HOPE was an attempt to be a mummy, one guy went up in a T-shirt with a demon on the front of it (that was his only costume), and another actually had a werewolf mask on, but just jeans and a sweat shirt on underneath it. Yes, it was good to see somebody who actually tried, but it raised an interesting question: Why the FUCK did he/she bring a large rubber werewolf mask aboard a 5 day cruise?

After the two what-the-fuck-were-they-thinking contests were over, the party began on the outside pool deck. Lohan, Crystal Right and Gator Babe and I were the only ones who decided to not call it a night (Jesus, seriously, it was only like 10:30 or so), and we followed a mass of people up and out onto the deck. They had a large stage/dance floor set up in the center of the open area, and the live calypso band that was playing was really jamming; well, they were really jamming after Crystal Right and Gator Babe forced 5 shots and 4 Buds into me. By then I was really feeling the motion of the ocean and led the charge to the stage. I did the fucking Macarena, the Chicken, some Stomp/Jump song, the Electric Slide, and countless (COUNTLESS!) others.

Things kept rocking on the deck for a few hours until they culminated in a giant conga line which snaked around the entire top floor of the ship and then ended with the red team and blue team (depending on if your dining table was an odd or even number) cheering the loudest for their alliance. We (the red team) kicked those blue bastards' ASSES.

After that though the band packed up and my crew and I headed on down to the disco. My gals had just taught me how to smoke and I had to show off my mad, rugged, tarry skills!

(NOTE FROM THE EDITOR: Once again, this inclusion is not the Rossman's. This space — picture and text — is presented by the one known as "Lohan.")


Okay, so [Crystal Right] and I were having a pretty good time on the ship up till this point, and then at dinner on Thursday we decide to hang out with [Gatorbabe] that night. You know, do a little drinky, dancey, and party hardy. So we're all set, but then the Rossman latches on to us like one of those sycophantic fish on the belly of a shark. He just won't let us do anything without him!

We tried to shake him after dinner by going to that reeeeally lame costume contest, but he was on us like fat on Rosie O'Donnell. Then us three gals told him we were going to powder our noses and we made a run to the very back of the ship. We had a drink or two at the bar there, next to the pizza counter, and then we thought it was safe to hit the open deck on the very top of the ship, where they had said there'd be the after-costume-contest party. Well, there they all were, all the really lame, ship-made costumers, jumping all around, dancing to the live band... And there was the Rossman, bumping and grinding his way across the giant dance floor directly towards us. We gave up and let him hang with us seeing as it looked like he was already wasted and probably wouldn't last another half an hour... Oh how I wish I could travel back in time to that one day and slap some advice into my slightly younger self.

I was a little surprised by events that night. I never would have guessed that the Rossman would have been the first one up on the stage that they set up as the "official" dance floor, nor that he'd have been the first to start rubbing up against both guys and girls up there, nor that he knew the Macarena by heart already and could do it without spilling a drop from his paper umbrella covered pina colada. I think he was even the one who started the conga line that wound around the entire deck, and he was definitely the loudest when the MC broke us up into our evens and odds (dinner table) sides for a shouting contest. Though instead of just yelling "Evens!" or "Yaaaaaaaah!" like everybody else, I think the Rossman was screaming out obscenities and favorite sexual positions. Well, our side won anyway, so I guess I can't get angry at him for that. Oh, and he did buy us all a couple of rounds of drinks with his ship expense card... But now that I think about it I didn't think that his last name was really "Chambu'queLetiqua" like the card said.


The disco was actually a helluva lot more fun than I thought it was going to be. I was expecting cheezy 70s music, only a few people on the dance floor, and no atmosphere; instead I got a packed house, lots of 90s and 00s hip hop and techno (which if I'm in the right frame of mind for I can enjoy), and, well, a 2000's take on a 70's environment, but all in all not a bad place to have fun. By this point we were all buying each other drinks and passing around cigarettes (I was smoking like fucking Vesuvius!) and covering each other's backs when it came to ugly or skeezy dance partners. For instance, I had this troll in some polka dot dress drag me out onto the floor who then tried to snuggle her over-makeupped face into my manly chest, but Crystal Right twirled me away from her and saved me from having to pretend to pass out again to get out of that girl's gorilla arms. Then, a bit later, Gator Babe had some fat and, well FAT frat boy start buying drinks for her. We all laughed. Then he came over and we made room for him (mostly so he'd keep the booze coming for Gator Babe who was sharing them with us). Then he brought his wing-man in who we all swore was his fucking father (this guy looked just like Overweight Fratty, and was obviously 20 - 30 years his fat senior)! We were dying laughing. Well, "we" meaning everybody but Gator Babe who was starting to get a little tired of Overweight Fratty's come ons. Then the guy made a terrible mistake: He dragged Gator Babe up on the dance floor... He kicked our pact into high gear. Her eyes silently pleaded for either deliverance from tubbiness or an airstrike. That's when Lohan and Crystal Right stood me up, stabilized me, and shoved me into action.

Overweight Fratty: Oh, baby, you so fine! Oh yeah, can you FEEL that?! Can you FEEL me bumping and grinding into you, baby!

Gator Babe: Oh my God... No, please don't rub your crotch agai--

(ENTER THE ROSSMAN) Me: OoooooohYEAH! Party time, girls! WOOOOOO!

Overweight Fratty: What? Hey, you... Don't bother us! No cuts! You can wait to dance with her... Like say when she's free after tomorrow morning. *Guffaw!*

Me: Uh-uh, sugar puffs, I wants to party with YOU! (I cut in between the two, my ass bumping and grinding into Overweight Fratty's jeans.)

Overweight Fratty: WHAT THE FUCK!??! Dude, seriously, I'm not... Stop it, please! That's just.... Oh GOD! UGH! (I seem to recall bouncing down to my knees and then back up again to stare into his eyes at this time.) DUDE! NO! I just... Jesus Christ! (Overweight Fratty booked it — his dad laughing at him as he ran out.)

Gator Babe thanked me by finishing off the dance that Overweight Fatty had started on her, that I had continued on him. After about another 2 hours of constant dancing though I needed a break. I sat down at our bar stools that were facing the dance floor and downed whatever drinks the girls had left. That's when 45 Year-Old Lesbian approached me. 45 Year-Old looked like she was going to start hitting on me, but as her name suggests she really only wanted info on the girls I was with. Apparently she did the math and realized that I was either a mega-player or at least two of my feminine companions were available. At THIS point in the night I was fairly hammered and thought that this would turn into an awkward and absolutely hysterical sitcom misunderstanding if I told 45 Year-Old that ALL the girls were available, and ALL of them liked to experiment. 45 Year-Old brightened right up and ran to the circle o'babes already dancing and threw herself (desperately) into the mix.

Lohan and Crystal Right each got some repulsed looks on their faces when 45 Year-Old whispered something (kinky, I'm sure) into their ears, and they both fled back to their seats next to me. Then all three of us laughed and laughed as Gator Babe kept swinging herself around the stage without a care as to who her new partner was... At least until 45 Year-Old started grabbing her body. Gator Babe stopped dead on the spot with a look of absolute "I can't believe somebody just grabbed me there" look of panic on her face. She turned to 45 Year-Old, had a few words that we couldn't hear over the thumping bass, and then slowly returned to us still looking like a deer in the headlights of a cement truck.

(NOTE FROM THE EDITOR: Here's an entry from Crystal Right.)


That first night of dancing was pretty strange. Everything started out on the outside deck right after the costume party, and tons of the crew were dressed up in Wizard of Oz costumes too. The Rossman just jumped into things like a champ! He was doing The Robot with the Tin Man, having chugging contests with the band in between Jimmy Buffet and calypso dance songs, and he was getting frisky with Dorothy. And even though I don't think he smoked the Rossman was lighting up like George Burns that night. The first time he asked for a cigarette from [Gatorbabe] he stuck it in his mouth, turned to us with a steely glint in his eye and said, "Light me, baby!" I don't know how none of us laughed. I guess it was the shock. He smoked pretty good for what could have been his first time. Well, he didn't have any coughing convulsions or puke up blood or anything, though we did have to teach him how to hold the cigarette properly without burning his fingers. Which he still did.

After he bought us all some drinks and told us matter of factly, "Look, if I'm cock-blockin' you gals at all, just let me know. Or hell, just tell whatever guy gets jealous that I'm gay. Just don't leave me alone with any of your potential guy friends' hairy gay friends and we're cool." I think that's why we allowed him to follow us down to the disco later that night after the outdoor party died off.

Oh my GOD! Things got absolutely crazy down in the disco! The drinks kept coming and the DJ kept the music flowing for hours! The dance floor was never empty, and even some of the not so great hip hop music sounded danceable that night. The Rossman looked like he was interested in [Gatorbabe] all through the night (he even took it upon himself to cut between her and some overweight, drunk out of his scruffy mind, aged frat boy, and start dancing with the frat boy by grinding his butt into the guy's groin, or vice versa, until the guy left with a huff and what I thought was a boner), and by the end they were sharing cigarettes and dancing slowly even during that "Superman" stomp-swoop song. It must have been around 2:30 or 3AM when I decided to retire for the night, leaving the two alone. If I had known what was going to happen though, I would have stayed to keep the Rossman company. Poor guy.

Our group continued drinking, puffing, taking tons of pictures (unfortunately the great inner-sweater shot that one of the girls took of herself with my camera didn't come out), and dancing for another half hour (with 45 Year-Old still hanging around), when the two Canadian girls decided to call it a night (Crystal Right giving me a wink and a "thumbs-up" as she left). I danced a bit more with Gator Babe, but after a few minutes of 45 Year-Old bugging us and trying to cut in (at one point she even tried to untie Gator Babe's shoulder strap) GB stated that she thought it was time to turn in herself. I said I understood, and after she left I went back on the dance floor and tried to do some break dancing which didn't quite work out for me. Then I decided to call it a night. I went down to the Wolfman's and my cabin, got my iPod and book out of my bags (with no fear at all of waking his sorry ass up, what with his horrible noise pollution drowning out every profanity I could throw at him), and then retreated to the empty cafeteria in the back of the ship for one more lonely night in the wide open place. It was 3AM, and it seemed I was in for another long night.

I got myself a pepperoni slice from the pizza guy and had just settled down to my Drew Curtis book again when I saw that two figures has just stumbled in through the entrance (I was behind a pillar, so they couldn't see me, but I had a clear view of both Gator Babe and 45 Year-Old). I was in fucking shock. I couldn't speak at first; I just watched. 45 Year-Old had Gator Babe by the arm and was dragging her towards the pizza guy in the back, but Gator Babe was a little hesitant (did she fear bumping into me again? Especially in THIS situation?). She kept pulling against 45 Year-Old's grip, but not in a "get the fuck away from me" kind of way, more like a "let's just get out of here and into a quieter place" kind of way.

That's about the time that I stood up smiling, thinking that hey, they might not be into me, but at least I'll have a little more company tonight. But as I cheered out, "Hey! Gator Babe! Did you come here for the pizza or the conversa--" but at that she flashed an embarrassed smile and then sat down at a booth on the other end of the room with her back to me. 45 Year-Old walked past me to get a fish pizza (with a smug, homosexual smile on her weather-worn lips), and then joined Gator Babe at her table. GB made no sign whatsoever that even hinted at "SAVE ME!!!" so I just let it go. Then when 45 Year-Old was done with her late night meal they both got up and fled the scene without looking back to respond to my "Well then, I'll see you at dinner tomorrow!"

Nothing makes a guy feel more manly than a chick fleeing from the sound of his voice with an aged lesbian in tow.

Hell, yeah! Rolling Stones,
Street Fighting Man! G-(page)7! >>

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