One of the luxuries I enjoy most in my horseshit existence is watching “The Love Boat” and drinking shameful amounts of beer. Seriously. You could put me in a basement with every episode along with a fuck-ton of Coors and no one would ever see me again. And I would be beyond happy. Like a joyful version of “Leaving Las Vegas.” Anyone could come visit as long as they knew we would just watch “The Love Boat” and suck down Coors like 2 dollar whores in a beer guzzling contest. There would be intermissions that would include eating steaks, listening to 70’s soft rock compilations, and discussing Gopher’s failed yet comical attempts at getting laid, but then right back to “The Love Boat” and beer swillin’. Its a very strict and paradoxical regimen of being completely irresponsible with your very existence. Of course there’d be anecdotes like, “did you see Isaac in that Wattstax documentary?” Or, “Jesus-Captain Stubing has a mighty bodonkadonk.” However, the sad fact that Gopher went on to become a republican senator can never be broached or you will be banned.
|“Republican? Bitch, are you fo’ real?!”|
I would probably lose most of my friends and family but you know what? Fuck ’em. After all, I’ve got enough Coors to kill a small town and every episode of “The Love Boat.” Oh yeah-and the steaks and 70’s soft rock compilations. But wait-you wanna bring over some Burt Reynolds dvds? You’ve got “White Lightning” and it’s equal sequel “Gator“? That’s cool. We can party. Oh shit-yer also bringing “Every Which Way but Loose” and it’s equal sequel “Any Which Way You Can“? Oh shit yeah we can party! In fact, I recommend watching both sets of these classics several times as drinking beer like the world’s gonna end can make a man forgetful, and who’d wanna forget thisscene from gator? Plus I’m always down to spend some quality time with Philo Bedoe and the gang, singing along with every Mel Tillis song from those glorious soundtracks. Shit-that reminds me of a special night.
Listen to this as you finish the post. It helps.
The only time I’ve ever witnessed the northern lights was also one of the most magical. My good friend Bob had access to a cabin to which the likes of unfiltered heathenry rarely seen by mere mortals was bestowed upon. We totes fucked that fucker up. On this particular evening it was just the 2 of us, as most commoners on this hairy turd-ball of a planet lack the palette for the finer things. We boarded his paddle boat with only the nécessités: a ridiculous amount of beer and smokes along with our newly found friend, “tape buddy.” Tape buddy was an old school hand-held tape deck with a built-in speaker that became our most valuable asset. The only tape we had with us had the soundtrack to “Every Which Way but Loose” on one side and “Any Which Way You Can” on the reverse. Of course. And did tape buddy ever complain as we continued to flip the tape over and over and over during this hours long marathon of binge drinking? Fuck no! He cherished every minute as we.
As we sang along to each song-even the Sondra Locke filler-we turned our gazes upward. At first it appeared to be headlights from the highway illuminating and advancing in the fog. Bob, being Captain Stubing to my Gopher, was the first to realize t’was the northern lights. I was like, “Holy sheep-tits!” or something. We eventually passed out, grateful in the knowledge that we shan’t ever forget that enchanted eve. At least most of it. And then I woke up with a hemorrhoid.