The Traveler:
I’m sorry I’ve been absent, I’ve been dealing with some personal drama that has kept me from writing**.
That doesn’t mean that things haven’t been happening… just maybe that too much has been happening for me to be able to write about it all. Whatsmore my rabid orangutan says that I should blog about more than travel, that the crazy shit that happens to me right here at home is worth writing about… I couldn’t begin to tell you, or write all of it. Maybe we should just make a list, and let folks tell us what y’all want to hear:
So, I take 2 autistic kids and a future cartoon super villain on Christmas vacation.
So, it turns out I’m exactly like Anne Frank: persecuted and strangely sexually aroused by it.
So, according to the TSA, there is one circumstance where a heart-felt “I’m real sorry” doesn’t quite cut it.
So, I dishonored the Honor Bar at Oxford University
So, it turns out that a Pit Bull in heat is exactly how it sounds
-- and there’s more god there’s more I’m forgetting most of what’s come up and gotten jotted in my little notebook (which I’ve left home this trip).
But for tonight, tonight we have to go with:
So, it turns out you might actually be a douche
No, not me… I’m an unapologetic asshole, and maybe a little bit of a narcissist, but you, sir… you are a douche.
BACKGROUND: People --ordinarily civilized, church going folk, respectable, parents, grand parents, leaders in business – loose their mother-fucking minds when they travel – and not just to Las Vegas, I’m talking everywhere – tonight in Indianapolis – some middle manager in a polo and mom-jeans is talking way too loud and acting a damn fool –count on it.
And apparently that’s okay, because what happens in Indy stays --what – on your HR record forever or at least until you’re fired or quit because most companies are too pussy to actual say you were fired for cause on reference checks.
--makes me wonder why I don’t start putting: “Former Emperor of Belize” on my resume, and just mother-fucking double-dog-dare some litigation fearing HR department in my former employer to dispute that.
Have you ever been to Belize?
No
Were you ever elected, or granted any plenipotentiary powers in Belize?
No
Is Belize an imperial power, ruler of subject nation-states, or holder of remote protectorates?
No
And, yet, you were the Emperor of Belize?
Yep. The Suba diving is awesome.
And that’s how it goes. Everyone nods and all is good. Just don’t lie about your past earnings, because HR people will fucking check that because I believe they get to keep 50% of ever dollar they don’t have to pay you.
Anyway I digress.
Douche, in the bar… here are some rules for living gently and not getting sued, from those of us who travel for a living, for whom this bar is sort of like a second home – that you seem to feel entitled to shit all over.
- After your Blood Alcohol Content (BAC) reaches a point where it would be illegal for you to drive – you need to go back to your room
- You are neither clever, insightful, charismatic, or sexually attractive pretending that you are only increases your general Douchy-Quotient (DQ)
- Your female co-workers are not sexual artifacts for your amusement. It is totally not okay to walk up to them stand one inch from their face and encourage them to “c’mon have another drink”.
- Do not, absolutely not, under any circumstances attempt to touch, or engage, me or one of my “fellow travelers” in conversation. I will make it my mission to make you cry. Promise.
- Rule number three (women <> sexual artifacts) applies also to bartenders, waitresses, actresses, models, musicians, booth-babes, and redheads.
- Should you heed rule #1, and just go to your room, playing porn at full volume is not considered a thoughtful gift for your neighbors.
**(not you thinly veiled blackmailing romantically
inclined valentines homosexual stalker)
