Teen single moms pounding warm booze and fist-fighting their own silicon-tit moms!
Wakesurfing looks real fun. But I’ve never tried it. Always lived near the coast. No point in dropping gas money to ride a tiny, if perfect, wave on some disgusting freshwater body.
Used to be a passably decent wakeboarder. That’s fun too. Stopped going when I hit the age people began expecting me to kick in on the aforementioned gas up. Too tough on the knees anyway.
Last time I went was a little over a decade ago. Ran into a buddy who’d just finished fireman school, immediately rushed out and financed a really nice boat. He was headed to the river, I could come along.
Why not? I spent a lot of time during my little boy Summers running around a Colorado River resort where my grandparents own a vacation home. One of those really nice double wide trailer deals. Full on garbage luxury. Many fond memories of stealing beers and fumbling a few knuckles into my fellow unattended teens once the sun went down and the adults were stumbling around semi-conscious.
It was a classy affair. Mainly moneyed SoCal heads who wanted a cheaply maintained weekend getaway. Kind of figured that was the average reality.
River trash are crazy people. Sun scorched nineteen-year-old single moms pounding warm booze then fist fighting their own be-thonged silicone tit mothers. Redneck goons chugging cheap beer and hauling ass through crowded waters. Jet skis smashing into everything. Absolutely fucking terrifying.
Headed into Needles, Arizona on a holiday weekend towing a brand new boat, realized I was dead wrong. River trash are crazy people. Sun-scorched nineteen-year-old single moms pounding warm booze then fist fighting their own be-thonged silicone tit mothers. Redneck goons chugging cheap beer and hauling ass through crowded waters. Jet skis smashing into everything. Absolutely fucking terrifying.
Homeboy thought his new boat would be a real pussy magnet. Which it was. All the gravel-voiced young ladies with premature crow’s feet and bad dye jobs wanted in. Not my scene. I’ve always liked ’em trashy, but you’ve gotta draw a line somewhere.
Three days of white knuckle terror. Captain always hammered. Convinced we were gonna bash into a levy at any moment. Saw a ton of tits, but nothing to write home about. Abandoned a guy at the second worst strip club I’ve ever been to because he was convinced one of the sex workers was into him.
Three days of white knuckle terror. Captain always hammered. Convinced we were gonna bash into a levy at any moment. Saw a ton of tits, but nothing to write home about. Abandoned a guy at the second worst strip club I’ve ever been to because he was convinced one of the sex workers was into him.
Might’ve been true, if he’d had a ton of blow. Which he did not.
Don’t know how he got back to our place. He didn’t remember either.
One of those trips that was miserable at the time, but is pretty funny in retrospect. Swore I’d never go again. Starting to reevaluate that oath.
Video of gorgeous jiggle tits sliding behind a boat helps. And I suspect that all those ladies who looked so nasty in my twenties might look quite a bit better now that I’m creeping toward middle age.