Notes from the belly of the whale during spring break quarantine
One general law, leading to the advancement of all organic beings, namely, multiply, vary, let the strongest live and the weakest die
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Welcome to the SPRING BREAK episode of Bad Sandwich Chronicles Beyond Thunderdome. As we isolate ourselves in our hovels, somewhere in myriad various tropical locales, young, immortal wastoids are gathering en masse in a direct violation of the global directive to shelter at home and practice social distancing. It’s tempting to hate these dumbfucks for their hubris, until you realize that most of them descended on their chosen spring break spot fully aware that they were gonna catch some kind of disease during their revelry anyway. For the rest of us responsible folks, I’ve decided to compile a small list of things that we can no longer do...and why those things suck bags and bags of ass and why you should be glad that you can’t do them because they are not actually fun at all. Strap in, y’all, and enjoy staying inside and not:
This is an activity that’s supposedly fun? I will never understand this at all. “Here’s an idea, let’s walk, but it’ll kinda suck...we will ignore all the advances we, as humans, have made in the technology of walking not being a fucking drag. First, you’ll need the dumbest looking shoes you can possibly imagine. No, even dumber than those. Next, it’s gonna be on a path not quite wide enough for your gait, it’ll be uphill, littered with rocks and mosquitoes and logs and shit, and OH! Almost forgot this part: there’s no purpose to it whatsoever. BUT! There’s a dope ass waterfall at the end of this trail!” Neat. How good is this waterfall, exactly? Because I’ve been suckered into meandering up some wack ass dirt trails in my time, and I’ve yet to come across a waterfall at the apex of a hike that’s anything less than completely underwhelming. “Ahhhh..” I say, because somehow I’ve been coerced into not only hiking but also forcing my kids to hike. “Will you look at that?” Which is kind of the “It’s remarkable” of observing something lame. Quite literally, if something was remarkable, you’d presumably have a remark to make that wasn’t just “wow, this is something one could remark upon.” Likewise, “will you look at that” is literally why you did the hike. To look at that. That pathetic ass 4 foot waterfall. OOOOOOOH. Here’s the best part! You now have to do the whole fucking hike again, but downhill, which somehow sucks worse (especially if you’re old and have shitty knees like I do), through shit you’ve already seen, provided you gave a shit about it on the way up (you didn’t) and the reward at the end of that is just your car. Neat fucking pastime. If only I could do this bullshit somewhere even less hospitable and more nausea inducing. Well, if that’s your thing, maybe try:
Ah, boating. How great. Everyone loves the sea, right? Here’s the thing: boats make everyone into the worst person they could possibly be, from the one dipshit that’s wrongly convinced they’re totally seaworthy and insists on being the captain or, depending on the size of the boat and legal apparatus wherever you happen to be boating, the obnoxious assneck standing by the actual captain and incessantly talking their ear off about bilge and shit, to the person under the illusion that being on a boat is novel enough that it requires a 32 frames per second amount of selfies, to the pud who actually just yelped “I’m on a boat” as though that shit’s somehow gonna click with anyone as anything more than evidence that said pud is all out of ideas. Over here, we have the person chugging beers and their close associate, the person who is seasick. God help you if you have some entitled dicklick on your boat who wants to waterski. Nothing I love more than watching this fatass get dragged through the wake, nose first, six times in a row before his girlfriend gets out there, shows him up and and then proceeds to stand there, holding onto a rope for 45 minutes while we all sit there and pretend this is something we’re all doing somehow.
Fuck a boat, man. It’s kinda the same shit as hiking but like...wedding party version. You get on a boat, you go to your wild beach that no cars can even get you to: your beautiful tropical island beach, then you have to do the whole motherfucking thing again to get back. Also, by the way, back to where? Another equally beautiful tropical beach that ALSO sells nine dollar Coronas? Whew. Glad I barfed into the sea for the opportunity to drink swill on a slightly different sand gradient. It’s like I’m a resident geneticist on the Beagle or something, but for sand instead of anything interesting. All boat rides, like all hikes, are twice as long as they should be, at LEAST. In conclusion, boats get the gas face from me, dawg.
Well, if it isn’t camping, The literally worst pastime there is. Let me set the stage: Back in the day, there were cool apes who had less hair and big enough skulls to have brains that made them smart enough to be able to live on the jungle floor. Unlike the more basic of apes, they had developed their synapses by quickly swinging vine to vine through the treetops in order to evade predators, and over THOUSANDS of years, they evolved into beings capable of language and community and ultimately, the ability to make rudimentary tools. These apes utilized these tools to tear the trees down thereby ruining the zone where all the poisonous snakes hung out, they used their brains and tools to flatten out the ground so their feet didn’t constantly hurt. They used em to develop other tools, like the wheel, that could be used in concert with other tools, like the basket (for example), to carry heavy things from one place to the other. At a certain point, these apes became so advanced that they made rudimentary dwellings, because sleeping in a dwelling is much safer than sleeping on the shitty beetle and worm riddled dirt ground under the overhanging bats and gila monsters n shit. As time went on, these dwellings and the flattened surfaces outside of them...holy shit, let me tell you a few things about em: They developed temperature control in the dwellings so if it’s winter you don’t freeze and if it’s summer you don’t melt (I KNOW!) they had locks so no bears or juggalos could get into your shit and fuck your sons. There were cold storage areas inside your safely locked zone where you could keep perishable items fresh until you decided you wanted to eat them. They had X boxes and shit in them so if you wanted to pretend you’re in World War II, go for it. And the fucking PATHS were so advanced you could travel like a mile a minute between your dwelling to places packed to the brim with food to make it simple for you to grab food to prepare for yourself (on a series of devices that literally come with your dwelling) or to places that have someone else to do it for you. Dope, right?
And you wanna go set up some fucking canvas sweat lodge shanty and sleep on rocks in the mud and eat beans out of a fucking tin can like you’re in a foxhole on the western front or some such bullshit? And then wake up at 430 because the bugs are biting your dick so you can make horrible lukewarm coffee that gives you diarrhea because you made it out of river water? Wow. Neat thing to pay money to do. Fuck you. The entire point of human evolution was to get rid of camping. You’re spitting in the face of every single visionary who’s ever come before you. Do you still get ready for surgery by biting down on a bible and chugging whiskey and hoping they cut off the correct arm? Camping is for dicks. And I didn’t even get into the part where you have to just shit on the ground while mosquitoes land on your open asshole or how you’re not supposed to fuck because bears will smell you fucking and come eat your food and also you and whoever you’re fucking. Word? Yo, literally the only reason to camp is if you’re in desperate need of a place to fuck, and that gets you eaten by bears? Fuck camping entirely. Mercy.
Going to the mall
If you’re not a teenager, what the fuck are you really doing at the mall anyway? If you’re not a teenager and you’re going to the mall you’d better be old as shit and powerwalking because otherwise, I”m assuming you’re trying to make out with the teenagers at the mall who are, by design trying to make out with other people at the mall. I get it, that’s the only place where there’s a Forever 21 and a Sephora that close to each other. Whooopity doo. It’s also the only place where you can get jalapeno poppers and crab rangoon and a soft pretzel within ten feet of each other and that doesn’t make me a mall regular. Nor does it trump the basic truth of the mall being totally lame. Based on what I know of theology, purgatory is literally a mall. If you want to be trapped between doing something you want to do and something you despise in a huge hermetically sealed rat maze with a bunch of sniffling perverts in airbrushed Fortnite shirts, then the mall is the spot for you. Otherwise, no thanks.
hmmmm. Weird one. I really want you to go to these. BUT, since you can’t, consider that standing in line to piss out a flat 9 dollar beer that you stood in line to get while a bunch of assholes blast out worse versions of songs you kind of know while some creepy Goonies lookin stranger tries to flirt with you (if you’re good looking), or an entire room full of like-minded people you’d like to be friends with ignore you is a drag. The only concerts I can recommend in good conscience are those put on by such reputable acts as the Lawrence Arms, the Falcon and The Wandering Birds. Otherwise, just listen to the CD, honestly.
Ah, the beach, or as I like to call it, the place where I somehow get sand in my dickhole while pondering how in the world someone could have ever thought that tattoo was a good idea. The only thing about the beach that’s better than looking for parking and dealing with disgusting greased up people stripped down to the bare minimum traipsing all around you is carrying your shitty cooler through the sand (walking in the sand is the shittiest walking there is. Give me hiking any day) and then getting said sand in your beer/sandwich all day long. OH! And then you get to stand in line to wash your feet off in that fuckin gross ass faucet (and nine times out of ten there’s somene there [usually a young woman of an uncomfortable age with regards to even noticing this kind of thing] whose pubes are just dangling out of their bikini bottoms for some reason) only to find that SURPRISE! That thing didn’t get ANY of the sand off your feet at all and now you live in sand shoes. Oh, and there’s a ticket on your car. And those hot girls laughed at you. Fuck the beach.
I assume these are no fun at all and I’ve heard that the snacks are usually subpar. And isn’t some shitty minor celebrity like Screech or some shit always at these? Woof. Next. I’m from the midwest, where we frown upon fun, so naturally, this isn’t for me either.
Anyway, There you go. I hope this has made you feel better about sheltering at home and social distancing. Everything sucks ass. Thank god YOU are doing the right thing and staying inside. I appreciate you. xo.