The Tourists

So, I'm reading Tucker Max's I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell, which I swaptree'd for some crap DC trade paperback. Figured it was perfect for me, but so far it seems a little base in its humor. I guess part of me wishes I could be as much of an asshole as this guy is and still get laid (Hell, I'm not nearly as much of an asshole as him, and I'm not getting laid, so maybe there's your answer.) but what really bugs is some of the similarities between this and my old blog. If I had known that I could have parlayed The Fall of Dursin into a book deal, I wouldn't have deleted that thing. I did, in fact, write a good long story entitled the Fall of Dursin that I thought could be a book. It went all the way back to the waning days of my relationship with Keri (the true fall of Dursin) to the autumn of 2005, where I purposely laid waste to my entire life. I still might try to do something with it, so you heard it here first.

But what I wanted to cover in today's lesson is my encounter the other day with the most loathsome of our species: tourists. I guess being a Bostonian has really made it hard for me to imagine that people actually come here from a great distance to sample what this city has to offer. But, lo and behold, I was eating lunch at Beerworks the other day, and three women approached the bar and sat next to me. One of them (the most attractive, and the only one I would consider "sponge-worthy") asked what I was drinking, and the conversation took off. They were from Fort Meyers, FL, but from what I could tell, it may as well have been Mars. This was confirmed when they remarked, "We noticed this is a really gay town."

"Really?"

"Yeah, haven't you noticed?"

I kind of wanted to make her feel like a shit and say, "Yes, a lot of us congregate here," even though I'm not actually gay. But I mentioned the gay marriage thing and that the South End has a large gay population.

One of them replied, "The South End? Isn't that funny that they all hang out in the South End?"

Yeah, Beavis, it sure is. I was starting to lose interest, even in the Hot One, and then came the line of the night. Barack Obama was on TV, and when we started talking about the Presidential race, the Hot One said, "Oh, we're Republicans."

Good night, ladies and gentlemen. You're a beautiful audience.

I quickly finished my lunch, paid my bill and made my exit. The lesson? Even after a couple high alcohol content beers, I'm not drunk enough to fuck a Republican tourist.