Have you ever been involved in a three-month-long feud with a pro-wrestling champion? And no matter how many chair shots you administer, or tables you put him through, you still can’t seem to get the pin? What about when after losing match after match, you are finally forced into a Loser Leaves Town match for the belt? Well, I lost that match, so about six weeks ago I got in my car and headed out on a road trip. Apparently, over a year ago, Paul tricked into signing some contract while I was drunk, so I’m forced to keep writing reviews. Here’s one of them.
Early June. We had a few days to kill in Pensacola, so I figured it was the perfect time for some doing nothing on the beach. Pensacola is one of the many large cities that have been nailed by hurricanes in the last year. Until other, more unfortunate towns like Gulf Port, Mississippi and obviously New Orleans, Pensacola is a predominantly tourist town with very little interesting history. Most of the damage was done to expensive beachfront housing, which is owned by rich people. So at least no one innocent people were hurt or set back financially.
We spent the first day exploring the area to find a good squat for the next couple of nights. We were considering one of the fucked up houses, since we knew no one would be unexpectedly coming home before major repairs had been done. Though, ultimately we found a spot near the beach that next to a huge Hilton. Squatting near a hotel is great if you have a car, since you can always get away with parking your car in front of it over night without raising any suspicion.
The first night, we figured that we might be able to get away with sleeping on the tall lifeguard towers. The towers have a wide platform with plenty of room for a few sleeping bags, and there’s no light on the beach, so it’s hard to see people when they’re up there.
As we were dozing off, four kids who were drunkenly trying to find an empty tower startled us. Feeling the need to extend our first night on the beach by a few hours, I got up and joined them, dragging my accomplice, Crust, along with me. The quartet was dragging a cooler full of beer with them, which they willingly offered to share.
Being the responsible adult that I am, I decided that it was my civic duty to relieve these under-age eighteen year-olds of their booze. I drank about fourteen of them. That and smoking pot under a blanket with one of the girls to keep the flame out of the wind is about all I remember from that night.
The next morning, Crust and I stumbled out of our lifeguard tower with vicious hangovers. We biked over the bridge back to the mainland for food, since Crust told me he remembered seeing a Super Wal-Mart not too far from where we were. Two sweaty, exhausting, God-forsaken hours later, we arrived.
Crust went off to lift some soy hot dogs for lunch, as well as to tell the Customer Service Desk person that the Coke machine outside stole his dollar, so that he would get a free dollar to pay for hot dog buns. Meanwhile, I haphazardly stumbled towards the electronics department. Although I wasn’t in any state to figure out which system I was playing, they had two games on display that I tried, so I figured now was as good a time as any to do some research for an article.
I played Burnout: Revenge and Jaws Unleashed. I went from scoring points by creating spectacularly explosive car crashes to ripping people limbs off underwater all while resisting the urge to punch an eight year-old in the face who kept whining about it being “his turn.” I’ll be honest with you: I didn’t really spend much time exploring the different features of the games. I was savagely wrecked and only in the mood to hurt things. So that’s what I did, and I enjoyed every second of it.
Later we back to the car and cooked the soy dogs on the running engine. They we hung out on the beach some more. I had a lot of resting ahead of me, if I wanted to be rid of this hang over in time to start drinking again at five.