The Beach Diaries #5

Previous: #1, #2, #3, #4

* I would look so much cooler right now if I’d bought that hat alluded to in my 2010 Movies preamble. All I can think is that no matter how great a day it is, if I had that hat, things would be 33% greater. “Look at the hat on that trendy motherfucker,” they’d all be thinking, “Surely to pull off a hat like that, one must be awesome.”

It is my birthday next week... *flashes a hint of gooch*

If I was a sexy internet skank, I could have put that on a wishlist and a cum-smelling man would have bought it for me. C’est la vie, I am hatless.

* A grandmother picks a fly out of a baby’s ice cream. “Bye, ugly fly!” she says, as she flicks it onto the path.

* An attractive girl with big boobs stands on the sand, peeling off a shirt to sunbathe in her bra.

“I’d smash it!” think all the other men in the world.

“Haha, just like that episode of Seinfeld!” think I. Then, her towel falls down, exposing her bare arse, and I can’t even remember what Seinfeld is. Seimfeld is it… or Stein-field? I think it’s some kind of lovely bare arse?

* Two laddy laddish lads rock up to Bra Girl and her hotter, athletic-looking friend, and start dropping lines. One has the England football team logo tattooed onto his chest, so that he need never know the trauma of not wearing a football top; the other has terrible generic tribal tat #12. Soon, the lads grab all their stuff and move it next to the girls. Chicks dig Football Men. Wondering where you went wrong with the ladies? You probably should have boorishly said ‘Mate’ a bit more often. Or maybe you just weren’t enough of an absolute beer-guzzling cock-head.

* Bitter expectations confounded as Tribal Tat takes out a book to read. Whatever. It’s probably a rape manual.

* It’s hot as balls out here. A hipster passes in an oversized tartan deerstalker. Elementary, my dear douchebag.

* Overheard conversation snippets. Passing loutish man to his friend:

“My fuckin’ willy hurts…”

* The lumbering sandcastle mascot from Harbour Park blindly waddles along the prom, charity tin-rattling helper by its side.

“Excuse me,” yells a girl in a bikini, “can I have a picture?” She runs to the sandcastle, hugging him for a friend’s phone with duckface lips that scream Facebook wall. As she goes to leave, the awkward helper boy holds out his tin and mumbles something about a donation. Without a single word, she gives him the sneery Hot Girl Brush-off and turns on her heel. Lesson – be in the costume. Even if it’s the simple costume of a confident, charismatic human male.

Look the part, be the part, motherfucker

* Later. Bra Girl and Athletic Friend leave. They do so together with England Lad and Tribal Tat.

~ by Stuart on April 25, 2011.