So, about this cruise….
We’re on a humongous boat, right? Freedom of the Seas holds something like 4500 passengers. That’s a lotta flesh lolling around on the pool deck, sister.
And it’s Spring Break so, as you would expect, there were a lot of families – who, evidently, all brought their grandparents. No sane adult would book a cruise during March unless they were related to that whining, snot-smeared mess. And yet, there were so many Maw Maws on that boat, they shudda re-named it Liverspot of the Seas.
Fortunately, all of them lusted heartily after The Cojones Brothers, which flattered and frightened them both. They’re cute that way.
The pasty-white American MeeMaws and PeePaws toddled around with hats and UV blocking pantsuits and discreet little gin & tonics. Appropriately polite and demure, they wandered in slo-mo around the pool deck or huddled in confusion in front of the elevators or stairs or buffet lines. Basically, smack dab in the middle of every ingress or egress.
The uber-tanned European Nonnies and Poppies bowled us all over going too fast, too loud and wearing too little. I agree that “tan fat looks better than pale fat” but, dude, if I can’t even tell if you are wearing a swimmie suit under there?? While I was pulling my Miracle Suit down over my own flat ass cheeks and up over my squooshed in uni-boob, I kept looking for Nonni’s thong strap. Any strap. The…uh… vertical strippy strap was deep in the abyss. The waist straps were visible only one at a time during the side-to-side hip sway portion of the program. Luckily, they were just a blur of body hair as hustled to cop a lounge chair in the sun.
We saw a unidentified “rap star’ with a bevy of women he rented from the Playboy Mansion. Beautiful bodies of indeterminate origin. They did not wiggle or bounce. Nor were they able to make facial expressions. But, as far as ornamentation goes, they won the prize. Even, I, Anita Merlot, an admitted aficionado of the high: heels, hair and hooters, stared in morbid fascination. Males, both toilet-trained and non, stared with a different kind of fascination. And found out later why they have that big table of jewelry on the Promenade Deck…
There was the guy that sang “My Way” at every single karaoke. He was pretty good. But, here’s a tip: no one likes a karaoke ballad. Ballad = Boring Buzzkill. Even Frank himself would have left to go find Dino in the Casino.
There was the reallllly tall guy whose hands touched the ceiling when he got his boogie shoes on at the nightclub. Oh whoops… we know that guy! Step back from that ledge, my friend…. His own wife wouldn’t dance with him but some broad with too much badonkadonk for those skinny jeans was. Oh hell…. That was me.
Aside from that, our little grouplet was perfect. Duh.
No one got too drunk to find their stateroom, no one showed their boobs or butt (although one of us came perilously close during karaoke), our teenage Studmuffins-in-the-making made lots of friends and curfew and, most importantly, my water-proof mascara held up well.
I think next time, I go on a cruise, all y’all should go with me.
Everyone is a Fudgie when you’re in the middle of the deep blue sea!
We’re on a humongous boat, right? Freedom of the Seas holds something like 4500 passengers. That’s a lotta flesh lolling around on the pool deck, sister.
And it’s Spring Break so, as you would expect, there were a lot of families – who, evidently, all brought their grandparents. No sane adult would book a cruise during March unless they were related to that whining, snot-smeared mess. And yet, there were so many Maw Maws on that boat, they shudda re-named it Liverspot of the Seas.Fortunately, all of them lusted heartily after The Cojones Brothers, which flattered and frightened them both. They’re cute that way.
The pasty-white American MeeMaws and PeePaws toddled around with hats and UV blocking pantsuits and discreet little gin & tonics. Appropriately polite and demure, they wandered in slo-mo around the pool deck or huddled in confusion in front of the elevators or stairs or buffet lines. Basically, smack dab in the middle of every ingress or egress.
The uber-tanned European Nonnies and Poppies bowled us all over going too fast, too loud and wearing too little. I agree that “tan fat looks better than pale fat” but, dude, if I can’t even tell if you are wearing a swimmie suit under there?? While I was pulling my Miracle Suit down over my own flat ass cheeks and up over my squooshed in uni-boob, I kept looking for Nonni’s thong strap. Any strap. The…uh… vertical strippy strap was deep in the abyss. The waist straps were visible only one at a time during the side-to-side hip sway portion of the program. Luckily, they were just a blur of body hair as hustled to cop a lounge chair in the sun.We saw a unidentified “rap star’ with a bevy of women he rented from the Playboy Mansion. Beautiful bodies of indeterminate origin. They did not wiggle or bounce. Nor were they able to make facial expressions. But, as far as ornamentation goes, they won the prize. Even, I, Anita Merlot, an admitted aficionado of the high: heels, hair and hooters, stared in morbid fascination. Males, both toilet-trained and non, stared with a different kind of fascination. And found out later why they have that big table of jewelry on the Promenade Deck…There was the guy that sang “My Way” at every single karaoke. He was pretty good. But, here’s a tip: no one likes a karaoke ballad. Ballad = Boring Buzzkill. Even Frank himself would have left to go find Dino in the Casino.There was the reallllly tall guy whose hands touched the ceiling when he got his boogie shoes on at the nightclub. Oh whoops… we know that guy! Step back from that ledge, my friend…. His own wife wouldn’t dance with him but some broad with too much badonkadonk for those skinny jeans was. Oh hell…. That was me.
Aside from that, our little grouplet was perfect. Duh.
No one got too drunk to find their stateroom, no one showed their boobs or butt (although one of us came perilously close during karaoke), our teenage Studmuffins-in-the-making made lots of friends and curfew and, most importantly, my water-proof mascara held up well.
I think next time, I go on a cruise, all y’all should go with me.
Everyone is a Fudgie when you’re in the middle of the deep blue sea!
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