Hombres. I want to go on a road trip. A real one. Where everything involved is as seriously fun as possible. I want to do all the road trippy things like over-spend on Redbulls, listen to ACDC, sing along to some of the overplayed top 40 tunes, which I’ve cleverly disguised by rearranging and reordering on a ‘mix’ CD, popping in a few Dub Step tracks just to confuse, so that I don’t look so fucking gay.
Mmm, I have so many fantasies about this trip. Not all of which are sexual. Actually, none are sexual. I’ll have to think about that. Here we go. I’m going to molest your minds with thoughts of fanfuckingtastically-superawesome-tripness. And when I say molest, I am not fucking around. You’re going to be LUSTING after this, when I’m done with you sexy. Big time.
The Crew:
At least four other really interesting darlings need to accompany me on this fun-filled drive to whichever destination we so choose. I need three in the back, so that the essence of road tripping is achieved. Four would be even more awesome. Less petrol to contribute. And the squishy sardine aspect makes the ride more genuine. Wouldn’t you say? Or maybe I’m enjoying them suffer in my rear-view mirror. How Schadenfreuden of me. I’m also watching the keg in the back, positioned just perfectly so that aforementioned mates are decidedly more uncomfortable than me.
The Booze:
Ok, there’s always the one dude who feels it’s necessary to drive the ENTIRE way. Must be a ‘small man syndrome’ thing. This having been said, not every trip will go as I’m illustrating. This is ultimate fantasy road trip though, so let me get my dream on. Ok – so one dude is driving – and I don’t give two shits why. The other four are getting jiggy with the liquid courage. Box wine and Brutal Fruits for the ladies. Beers for us REAL men. Yeah, I’m hardcore like that. Of course, this means that said smalldick* driver will have to pull over 20 times more than if we weren’t abusing the hooch, the liquid panty remover, the barley sandwiches. Oh how I love my alcohol slang. Once the ‘do it fluid’ in the vehicle runs out, we stop off for a brief pub crawl. OBVIOUSLY, designated driver drinks a fuckload of caffeine before getting behind the wheel again. In fact we stay the night in a 2 bed dodgy motel. It’s better than letting the poor car get a massive PK from a jumping, animate, possessed tree.
The Chow:
Yeah, the stomachs are weak because of the drink and we’re putting a little of our hardcore-ness aside, reverting from “eating is cheating” to “puking is gonna make the girls thing we’re fucking lame so let’s get something in our bellies”. Here is the best fucking food. EVER. I want all of this shit strategically placed either in the car, or on easy-to-find shelves and counter tops in easy-to-locate and far-away-from-where-they-shot-the-hills-have-eyes superettes. Seriously – those road trip movies freak me out sometimes. Never talk to a strange looking kid on a pretty swing/bench.
Check out this guy:
And this monster:
Hell, these things are so bloody good-looking I’d eat them if they tasted like your dog’s sweaty balls:
AND:
Yes, it’s a lasagna sandwich – a Lasandwich, bitches. Fuckin A+
Now check out the kid:
What do you think? Where are we going, you ask? Well I’m sure some wise dude once said that it is the journey, not the destination that counts. Yeah. But we’ll have to rock out at some Stripper/Jacuzzi/Spa/Really-Sunny-Beer-Selling place. Just to rest our road tripping bodies. By inebriating them. Who’s coming with me?
* Aforementioned small dick driver is purely fictional. I know all you dudes have massive cocks. Like mine.
Mmm, I have so many fantasies about this trip. Not all of which are sexual. Actually, none are sexual. I’ll have to think about that. Here we go. I’m going to molest your minds with thoughts of fanfuckingtastically-superawesome-tripness. And when I say molest, I am not fucking around. You’re going to be LUSTING after this, when I’m done with you sexy. Big time.
The Crew:
At least four other really interesting darlings need to accompany me on this fun-filled drive to whichever destination we so choose. I need three in the back, so that the essence of road tripping is achieved. Four would be even more awesome. Less petrol to contribute. And the squishy sardine aspect makes the ride more genuine. Wouldn’t you say? Or maybe I’m enjoying them suffer in my rear-view mirror. How Schadenfreuden of me. I’m also watching the keg in the back, positioned just perfectly so that aforementioned mates are decidedly more uncomfortable than me.
The Booze:
Ok, there’s always the one dude who feels it’s necessary to drive the ENTIRE way. Must be a ‘small man syndrome’ thing. This having been said, not every trip will go as I’m illustrating. This is ultimate fantasy road trip though, so let me get my dream on. Ok – so one dude is driving – and I don’t give two shits why. The other four are getting jiggy with the liquid courage. Box wine and Brutal Fruits for the ladies. Beers for us REAL men. Yeah, I’m hardcore like that. Of course, this means that said smalldick* driver will have to pull over 20 times more than if we weren’t abusing the hooch, the liquid panty remover, the barley sandwiches. Oh how I love my alcohol slang. Once the ‘do it fluid’ in the vehicle runs out, we stop off for a brief pub crawl. OBVIOUSLY, designated driver drinks a fuckload of caffeine before getting behind the wheel again. In fact we stay the night in a 2 bed dodgy motel. It’s better than letting the poor car get a massive PK from a jumping, animate, possessed tree.
The Chow:
Yeah, the stomachs are weak because of the drink and we’re putting a little of our hardcore-ness aside, reverting from “eating is cheating” to “puking is gonna make the girls thing we’re fucking lame so let’s get something in our bellies”. Here is the best fucking food. EVER. I want all of this shit strategically placed either in the car, or on easy-to-find shelves and counter tops in easy-to-locate and far-away-from-where-they-shot-the-hills-have-eyes superettes. Seriously – those road trip movies freak me out sometimes. Never talk to a strange looking kid on a pretty swing/bench.
Check out this guy:
And this monster:
Hell, these things are so bloody good-looking I’d eat them if they tasted like your dog’s sweaty balls:
AND:
Yes, it’s a lasagna sandwich – a Lasandwich, bitches. Fuckin A+
Now check out the kid:
What do you think? Where are we going, you ask? Well I’m sure some wise dude once said that it is the journey, not the destination that counts. Yeah. But we’ll have to rock out at some Stripper/Jacuzzi/Spa/Really-Sunny-Beer-Selling place. Just to rest our road tripping bodies. By inebriating them. Who’s coming with me?
* Aforementioned small dick driver is purely fictional. I know all you dudes have massive cocks. Like mine.
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