Friends Fried With Beach: Part 3, The Obligatory Trilogizer

[the following words were written strictly for profit. the publisher is not responsible for your disappointment and furthermore may not be solicited for "a better version" or "something that doesn't suck."]

it's dinner time but before we eat we walk down the road a bit to get a quick drink. we walk through a place called something like "the paradise beach resort." i thought the name was pretty cheesy, but i commend them for at least having the words in the right order. as we walk through, we pass underneath a giant spinning disco ball that verified my suspicions. it was in the dining room and about half a dozen waiters were just staring at us as we passed right on by, not even dancing. had they been dancing, or more specifically, doing the hips-to-the-left right-index-finger-pointing-to-the-moon in sync with the beat, the place somehow woulda crossed some singularity that'd put it firmly in the 'awesome' category. but no.

out on the beach we went next door and ordered drinks, and then after waiting way too long for them to come, played a game of 20 questions with the waiter. "where are the drinks." "no, drinks." "um, do we have to go inside to drink them?" "no" "do you mean just some of the drinks aren't coming." "no, i sorry...i can't sevve you." "hmmm do you need to see ID?" "...uh...no." "identification?" "no sorry i cannot help you" "...can we see your boss?" "no" "what did we do?" "I'm sorry. Queries in which i cannot respond in an affirmative or negative manner are not allowed." of course he didn't respond this way but the look on his face said it all. we eventually found out that the bartender wasn't working. that's all. so we went back and had drinks under the disco ball in the danceless dining hall.

when we finished we promptly left and went somewhere for a dinner with a far less penchant for cheese. i can't remember the name but it was one of the best i've had since being here. i ordered the tiger prawn and was extremely disappointed when they served it and it wasn't a tiger's well... it wasn't what i thought i ordered but it was still as delicious as i'd expected.

when everyone had more or less finished, i was asked if i would eat someone's leftover fish eyes. i immediately realized that i had become that guy... that guy who eats animal eyes. well i guess it could have been worse. i could've gotten what i thought i ordered and become a totally different kind of 'that guy.' that would be gay. so i ate the eyes to reaffirm my masculinity, simultaneously cementing my status as 'that guy who needs to reaffirm his masculinity.' i don't care though because masculinity is in the eye of the beholder and i'll eat it... if you dare me.

after dinner we got more drinks and i can't remember how much whiskey and wine and beer i drank that night but it was somewhere between more than a little and just shy of grossly excessive. when we got back, some of us went dipping that was not technically skinny, but maybe on an on-again-off-again diet.

the next morning i woke to the sounds of someone puking and wouldn't have it any other way, as long as the sounds aren't accompanied with the feeling. i once more staggered and zig-zaggered my way to the beach and had a couple beers left over from the night before, blatt-style. there was an odd sensation on my tongue though: in addition to being warmer than a beer should ever be drank, as it had been left in the heat for hours, it had somehow acquired a spice, that made every sip a sorta masochistic science experiment. it was gross, but in an intriguing way, perhaps like heroin but a million times less intriguing.

anyway, once again i defeated god and was up 3-nil (i drank both beers) on that bitch. by the time we had left i was feeling pretty god-damned satisfied with this particular weekend. it wasn't until we reached saigon though, that i realized that i, not god, was the bitch. i had inexplicably left my camera in my sand filled pocket and apparently sand got in my camera's crotch or something like that and now it hates me. luckily there's a witch doctor in the village that i'm sure has plenty of experience with canon powershots.

oh and i left my pants in the bungalow.

final score:

god - a million
mat - pantsless.

[the end.]