Well, It Was A Bee-yeetch!

Whose idea was it to go to the beach on Memorial Day? Not mine, sister. A mass of humanity -- balls, butts and boobs, still pasty and pallid from their winter slumbers, shoe-horned into lycra and on display for all to see. It was quite a sight:



But we braved the sea of sunning Michiganders, found a spot for our towels and frolicked happily in the turd-brown, fecal stew known as Lake Lansing. Luckily, I brought along our chewable anti-malaria tablets, so we should be fine.

One question, though? When did every guy in the world start waxing his fucking chest except me?! What the shit is this all about?! I felt like a goddamn Yeti stalking around the place.



You'll notice that, aside from being very hirsute, I'm quite tall. It's bizarre, though. I seriously think that, besides one or two other Bigfeet like myself, every guy there had had his chest pubes torn off. I guess the ladies find this attractive nowadays. Me, I don't fucking get it. Besides, if I shaved off my chest hair, I'd lose like 15 pounds... and my shirts would be all blousey. Fucking creepy.

All in all, though it wasn't too painful of a day. It was classic, though. At one point, we walked over to the concessions area to get some ice cream for the spawn, and there was this HUGE line snaking around the building. We also noticed a really short line next to it. We stood in the short line and got our stuff in about a minute. Then we realized that the long line was filled with people waiting for their complimentary, Memorial Day FREE HOTDOG! Unbelievable!?! They're waiting in this line in 90 degree heat so they can get a free, limp tube of lips, anuses and teats shoved into a stale bun. Whatta buncha weiners.

I'll leave you with a photo that perfectly demonstrates the spazzitude that is Mr. Z. We had just gotten out of the "lake" and were warming up on our towels. This is Mr. Z in quiet repose:



[That's his foot where most people's head would be. And yes, that is Miss O confidently striding by in the background.]