Random Order: Shore, Why Not?

"I don't like to call it rape, I like to call it 'surprise sex.'"

So, after driving two and a half hours with a very nasty thunderstorm constantly above me, I made it to Ocean City, NJ. I'd like to say that New Jersey drivers must all be mentally handicapped. I say this because there were road signs that just didn't need to be. Signs that read "No Turns" on a very straight expressway separated from the other direction of traffic by 20 yards of wooded area. To further bolster this keep-your-car-on-the-road message, The New Jersey Transit Authority thought it was necessary to litter the said woodland area with "Stay Off The Median" signs. By this time, I was wondering to myself "I know people from New Jersey suck, but are they really that bad?" The next three signs on the Atlantic City Expressway removed all doubt from my mind. The first sign was large and yellow, with a flashing yellow light in it. It read "Stay Alert." "Alright," I thought, "it is raining and it is dark, so maybe that was justified." 100 feet later, there was a similar yellow sign with the message "Stay Awake." "No shit," I exclaimed, "I'm in the middle of driving." Oh, but the third sign blew me away. It read "Stay Alive." I'm sorry, New Jersey, but if your citizens need reminders to keep breathing then something is terribly wrong. I've decided to detonate some powerful explosives along the Delaware River in order to sink New Jersey into the ocean. It would be classified as a mercy killing.

Once I got in, I ate a sandwich and stumbled into bed. I wondered if Kat was going to call me, but apparently she fell asleep. She told me later that she was concerned about my drive, but apparently she wasn't worried enough to lose sleep over it. Thanks.

When I awoke from my slumber, I ate re-heated sticky buns. I then gave Al a call on his mom's cell phone, and we decided to meet up on the Boardwalk. Oh man, right off the bat Al gave me three great pieces of news, and it was only 12:30. First thing's first, Township Line Pizza has been repainted and remodeled. There are now seats at TLP. I haven’t seen any of this yet, but it sounds super sexy. Jerry must have been listening to Al and I. I have to go there later today. The second piece of information is that Drexel Hill is getting our Wawa back. THAT'S FUCKING RIGHT, WELSH FARMS MOTHERFUCKERS. WHAT NOW? NO MORE PARTONAGE FROM DOM BONANNI AND AL SMITH, THAT'S FOR SURE. MEATLOAF. FUCK. Oh glorious day, Wawa has returned. The third thing Al told me was more like a small story. He assures me that he'll right a first-person description for Random Order, but I should include it here just incase I forget to bug him. Al told me that during his 14-hour workday on Friday that there was a reasonably attractive mother breastfeeding her infant in his supermarket. Now I'm sure all you losers are going to be thinking, "Oh, you're so immature, it's only natural, stop being a 13-year-old." First, shut the fuck up. Second, no. Third, if there's a hot mom willing to flop 'em out in the middle of a grocery store, it's only natural that you take notice and enjoy.

After meeting up, Al and I walked the length of the Boardwalk talking about all kinds of weird shit. We touched on many topics that I just plain can’t remember. Maybe if Al remembers some fun things we said he’ll post a comment. Anyway, after we hit the end of the Boardwalk we decided to turn around and hit up all the arcades. Al and I wound up playing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Time Crisis 2. Every time Al got to put in his initials, he put in "JEW." So, if you’re down the shore and you see that JEW has the 49^th spot on a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles machine, chances are Al was there. We managed to work up a healthy appetite playing video games all afternoon, so we went to a pizza shop and ordered one plain cheese pizza. The only problem was that the rest of New Jersey had decided to do exactly the same thing. The restaurant’s ovens were backed up with orders, and it took a good 20 minutes for us to get our order. We retreated to my air-conditioned condo to eat.

After we had killed the pizza, I grabbed $20 out of my mom’s purse (it’s funny how I could blow $40 on gas and a movie without thinking) and left to go play more arcade games. Al and I found an old X-Men machine and beat the game. Beat it. It only took us about $10. I have beaten the game before in arcades three or four times, but it was better doing it with Al. Al and I then played a "friendly" game of air hockey. I won 7 to 6. This is where the day started getting very competitive. I played Al in Virtual Fighter (I won), Arctic Thunder (I won a few times), and Crusin’ World (I lost). After some stiff competition, Al and I decided to go back to my condo and mooch a dinner off of my parents outside the city. I was planning on getting a picture of the restaurant’s menu, but I can’t find the one I took. You’ll just have to take my word for it. The restaurant had a small burger selection, with two of the best-titled burgers ever. They had the "ACTION BURGER" and the "AMERICAN BURGER." I believe Al got the American Burger. I copped out and got Buffalo Pork Chops (which sucked). We left the table early and headed back to the Boardwalk. Al and I had some business to deal with.

Round one was the Air Hockey match mentioned above. Round two was a 19 hole round of miniature golf. Pirate miniature golf. Although the setting was festive, the competition was cutthroat. We played through the front nine easily, giving each other do-overs and breaks (because we both thought we were in the lead). However, our jovial attitude soon changed when Al tallied the scores for the first nine holes. We were tied at 22 strokes apiece. There was a constant air of tension as we played through the back nine. Al took shots, and I matched them. He went up a stroke, and I caught up. We were perfectly balanced. It got to the 18^th hole, and we were tied at 42 strokes. I got my ball within 3 feet of the hole and missed the shot, making my ball roll down a hill 20 feet away. Al took his shots, but stopped his ball from rolling down the hill with his foot. Realizing that the game was on the line, I called him out on it, and forced him to give himself a one-stroke penalty. It took me 5 more strokes to get my ball in the hole. We tied.

Seeing as we were both unsatisfied with the outcome of our mini-golf excursion, Al and I agreed to settle our competition with a little bit of Arctic Thunder. At the last minute, Al won. He had forced the entire series into a tie. We had won, lost, and tied a match. The only solution was a sudden death game of air hockey. By trying to confuse Al with crazy banked shots, I had managed to score two goals on myself before Al had touched the puck. It was not looking good. I continued to lag behind Al the entire game. It came to be game point very soon, as Al had reached 6. It was 6 to 4, and not looking good. Thankfully, I don’t lose. Ever. In an epic hat trick of supreme glory, I vanquished Al and took my throne as the Supreme Ruler of the Universe and King of the World. Al, in a John McEnroe outburst of extreme anguish and self-loathing, threw his paddle across the table, whipped his hat at the floor, and stormed out of the arcade. He had lost.

The rest of the night was very brief and jaded. Al and I got ice cream in semi-awkward silence, broken only by Al’s relentless attack at a pack of 14-year-old girls where he told them to shut up and go to hell. Al got picked up at the local Baptist church (with glowing neon sign that reads "Christ Saves") and I called it a night. Fun.