A: getting extremely hammered by open bars, and
B: swimming,
which, in retrospect, doesn’t seem to be the safest of combinations.
The trip there was pretty uneventful. This is all kinds of surprising, as by looking out the window of the plane we were on, you’d see a SIGN on the WEAK END of the WING that said - and this has to instill trust in our aircraft maintenance teams – DO NOT WALK PAST THIS LINE. Yep, yep, yep, the DO NOT WALK PAST THIS LINE-viewing people were maintaining the plane, which kind of makes you wonder if people who don’t need to be reminded to NOT BREAK OFF PARTS OF THE PLANE were something of a rarity.
So anyway,
But the point is, the
“it’s-kind-of-ironic-that-beaches-are-a-sign-of-serenity-when-all-we-seem-to-do-around-em-is-drink-and-shout-people’s-names-while-calling-the-wrong-people-apparently …”
to this…
“man-I’m-conked-out-hey-look-CAMERA!-ow-HEY!-watch-it-my-arm-AGHH-that-hurt-you-oh-wait-look-flash-man-I’m-conked-hey-look-CAMERA!”
It was pretty cool. Or at least, as cool as things can be, when as experiences go, it was the first time I’ve thrown up in
Or in an airport, for that matter.
Or in front of over a hundred people, for that matter.
Who happen to be officemates, for that matter.
So the point is, there are a lot of ‘for that matters’ when you don’t watch your alcohol while traveling, and you don’t avoid having to to HURL in front of RANDOM AIRPORT DUDES and OFFICEMATES who can and probably will TAG PICTURES of you.
****
So
There are a LOT of clinics in
What?
and…
Why?
but mostly…
So do people here catch the flu several times a day, or what?
So first I theorized that all these clinics were there in the off chance that LeBron James gets sick. There’d be, like, 200 clinics to choose from, although not much in the way of either parking or food, which may be something of a problem.
Still, this doesn’t make any sense, as I’m sure he’d be fine, with say, 20 clinics waiting for him, so I needed to make more reasons up. The reason eluded me right up to the point where I saw what Clevelanders had for a pastime.
One of the hosts called it “the human ball of terror.” It’s a set of metal bars shaped to resemble a bowling ball, not that there’d be a difference if they modeled it after a large basketball.
The goal was pretty simple. Find a way to have someone enter the ball. This person does not, technically, technically, need to possess a brain.
Then, you can have a bunch of people, apparently smarter as they know not to enter a metal ball, roll the ball against giant-sized pins. The objective was to see if they could get the pins to fall, bowling-style, and to laugh at the person inside, given that the person probably has smarts just below jailbird-Guess-models, who may also technically, technically, not possess working brain cells.
I got a spare with some wicked spin on the ball, and, by some miracle, didn’t need to drop by one of maybe ten clinics within two meters of the hotel. ‘Wonder how Clevelanders play football.
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