What a Coincidence, We Were Just There...

My wife and I met some friends this past weekend in St. Simon's Island. For those of you that have been underprivelaged as to have never been to this particular Golden Isle of Georgia, don't go. We like it the way it is, small, quiet, and not at all crowded. The island has the more unique restaurants per area than our lovely town, Valdumpster. We haven't tried them all, but a few are a must when we go. We made appearances at a few of them this past weekend.

That being said, apparently the webmasters from MSN were over there this past weekend as well. I logged onto to the MSN homepage yesterday and one of the hot headlines was "Best Places to Whale Watch." I had no idea they were there.

Out on the beach, I was blasted back into an early 1980s movie set of "Summer Rental" where John Candy's character's beach house was next to the public beach access. Well, we had to use the public beach access because our friend's condo was not on the water. And if you all will imagine the wonderful melting pot of people that decided they would go to the beach the same day as us.

Some of my favorites included the beached whales. The scene is horribly menacing, with all the overgrown mammals cooking like chicken cordon bleu in the hot sun. They weigh so much that mere humans can do nothing to get them back into the water. It is a strange, sad event that we witnessed.

Before PETA attacks me for not assisting these beached whales that I am referring to, I want to stress the PETA does not protect fat women in bikinis. See Below:

Yes, those kind of whales. My favorite is the one in the green skirt. We all know that is not covering what it was intended to.

Do these shoes make me look fat? No, but your ass...wait, you are wearing shoes?

On Saturday evening, after watching sand blow from the ocean into cracks on those whales that one can only assume never gets washed, we had a good dinner and decided to go to my wife's favorite bar, Ziggy Mahoney's. It's a pretty cool place that sells cold beer and plays the same effing songs every time we go. The owner stands up and plays a keyboard along with whatever beach songs are playing. For the hipper, more modern songs, he likes to hit a single crash cymbal on the side of the stage. It is a bit hokey, but my wife loves it, so I put up with it.

The funny business started after one of our friends coaxed a nice pair of older ladies to let us sit with them so we wouldn't be at the mercy of the bar dance floor. For which we were grateful. They were locals, and that would prove interesting by the end of the night. Here is a little background on it. My wife went to the island for what seemed like six effing times last year. Each time she went it was for a bachelorette, let's-play-with-dicks party. They would always end up at Ziggy's. She ended up dancing with this guy while she was severely intoxicated, or so she claims. He wasn't a real threat but it apparently made his night. She made it known to him that she was married. She told me she danced with a guy that looked like me, and dressed like me. I know how these swinging dicks work, so I wasn't that all that impressed and told her that hopefully she knew that it wasn't me. It has been an ongoing joke ever since.

Well, I got to meet this guy the previous time we went. He was pretty nice, but kept telling me I had a good girl, a phrase every guy really enjoys hearing. He did not at all look like me, he and I just dress similar, only he shops at Baby Gap. I'm short, but this guy takes it to a new level. After I saw him, I couldn't help but laugh and immediately make fun of my wife for choosing such an odd dance partner. From then on, he became known as the Troll.

I'll take a Bud Light you wanker!

I think we all know where this is going. The two ladies, being locals, knew this guy. He ended up hovering around our table most of the night. Not any different from the fucking seagulls around a picnic on the beach. I saw him walk in, and when I got back from the bathroom, he was at our table talking to the ladies. Since everyone at our table knew that he was probably going to be there, they all proceeded to partake in the fun. Our friend's husband and I spent most of the night at the table drinking with the Troll in tow. He didn't say much, however, the one time he did, I think I was such a dick to him that he sort of aborted the small talk. I simply said that I didn't have any Lucky Charms, nor his pot of gold, and to fuck off. Not that mean in my book. When I left to get a drink, he decided it was time to try and talk with my wife. It was brief, but I am almost certain that he waited there all night, pissing the time away with the old ladies, just to try and strike up intelligent conversation with her. Intelligence never found this guy.

After the bar had closed, we stopped off at the Waffle House to have a rowdy late night snack that only a true Waffle House waitress could appreciate. They see some awful shit and I would advise anyone that eats there to tip well, they are nice and probably know the cops personal cell phone numbers. It would be a wise move. As we were leaving, someone spotted the Troll and I felt pretty bad for calling him that. Almost at least. It didn't necessarily stop me from taking the route back to the condo without passing over any bridges. I would have hated to answer his fucking questions all night.


That was about it. We got up, spent the day in the island's little village, crossed the bridge into Brunswick and headed home. Pretty fun. Oh yeah, I caught the Troll and a friend of his smoking grass in the back room of Ziggy's, I took a picture before he knew what hit him.

And no Kellie, I'm still not telling that dick joke.

H.Staff