Mild rant follows:
So, I just went on my first cruise ever. Loads of fun. But I’m still just a wee bit peeved at the whisky-soaked skankazoid who has yet to learn the meaning of democracy.
You see, aboard this particular ship they have fun activities for people who get no enjoyment from watching the waves and soaking up the rays. One of these activities was the Hairy Chest Competition. I had planned on staying far far away from that. My nieces, however, had different plans for me. They encouraged – nay, insisted – that my brother and I participate. Right from the start, I knew I was doomed, as I’m pretty hairless and my brother is 90% quilted fur. So anyway, we both entered. Hey, you can’t buy memories like that, right?
Little did I know that the contest was going to be more than just standing around shirtless. No, we were to dance around at the bottom of the stairs, then do a sexy dance up the stairs, then go down the water slide into the pool, then get out and get felt up by the judges.
I should mention at this point that my nieces were also judges. And underage at that. They themselves did not do any actual feeling up, much to my relief. And theirs too, I imagine.
The first guy was good. Damn good. He took off his belt and was rubbing it between his legs. That was a class act that the rest of us simply could not follow. I did my best by seductively licking my lips and then doing a strip-tease with my T-shirt. I struck a sexy pose as I went into the water. And then I delivered my coup – I did a handstand in the water and did a little up-in-the-air leg dance. Athletes foot was never so hawt.
My brother did even better by plucking out chest hairs and tossing them to appreciative audience members. When he got out of the pool he put on his sunglasses in the coolest of ways. Class, class, class.
So who won? The six judges were to agree on three semi-finalists who would do a Tarzan yell. So what did whisky-soaked skank do? She just started choosing winners. No conference. My nieces and the other judges objected loudly, and nominated others among us. Did whisky-soaked skank listen? Yes, for about 1.2 seconds. And then she yelled out her choices anyway.
It was a jury of one. My nieces were pissed.
So listen here, Mrs. Adolf Hitler: Who the fuck made you queen of the competition? Who elected you dictator? Who appointed you judge, Judy, and executioner?
I have no doubt that in a free and fair world, me and my hairless blubber would have won. Because damn, I’m sexay.
We was robbed.