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The Salem Report
So we’re back from Salem. All in all, it was a good time. You can see about 80 pictures of the general weirdness on my blog picture thingy.
Anyway, it was a classic road trip, full of all the necessary items that make a road trip great.
Total Mileage: 1502
Vehicle of Choice: 2004 Mustang V6 in Arrest Me Officer Red
Equipment: Cloths, 1 gallon of assorted boozes, angst
Road Trip Running Gag: Every good road trip needs a running gag. It’s something that you laugh about again and again throughout the trip. Here’s how ours began:
So my friend produces some hand lotion and begins to put it on his hands. I pay it no mind until he announces out of the blue, “As a nurse, I wash my hands a lot. They can get dry and cracked. If I don’t keep them moisturized, they crack open and let infections in at the hospital. It’s important.”
I responded, “What? It’s none of my concern. It’s perfectly alright. I understand if you want to have a soft and supple vagina… I mean hands.”
The lotion could not be produced again without a similar exchange.
Most Dangerous Moment: You know, there are times when the little devil that sits on your shoulder whispers something in your ear that you REALLY shouldn’t say. This time, the whisper was just barely avoided. Had I paid attention to it, I would be in jail now. This occurred at the Canadian Border Crossing:
Crossing Guard: Citizenship?
Me: USA
My Friend: USA
Crossing Guard (with a little too much of the smug self-satisfaction that people have when they’re holding a position of authority that they didn’t work for): What was your purpose in Canada today?
The Little Devil: To drink maple syrup and fuck your mother.
Me: *long pause*
Me: We’re going to Boston.
Crossing Guard: Go ahead.
As for the vacation:
Well, Salem is basically a tourist trap. That’s fine, though, because it’s a fun one. It also, like all tourist traps, has no sense of irony. There’s something special about seeing a stand selling French Fries and “Fried Dough” next to a 350 year-old cemetery.
I got a tarot reading. The cards were good, and very accurate, but the reader sucked. She kept trying to ask me about my mother. Ugh… When my mother pays you $25, you can do a reading about her. For now, it needs to be all about me, baby. What a jerk.
We had pumpkin beer and pumpkin ice cream. We walked around, drank, and awaited the party that began after nightfall.
And what a party! Holy statutory, Batman! I would have gladly given a year at the end of my life to have been ten years younger for just that night. We ended up hiding ourselves in a club on the main drag just to be sure that the people we were hitting on were at least 21.
But the real reward for “Best Moves” on Halloween night goes to a guy I’ll call “Binky the Clown”. Binky had a clown wig, a muscle shirt, a blinking clown nose, and a large beer bottle hanging suggestively out of the crotch of his pants. The beautiful thing is that he had the courage to totally run with this game. I watched him strike out for ten minutes… methodically… girl after girl… by slapping their legs with his beer bottle and trying to put his arm around them. Go team. Then he came near me and I gave him the thumbs up. He bummed a cigarette off of me, and I suggested that he use the line, “Everybody loves a clown, so why don’t you?” God bless him, he did. And he struck out with that one too. The last I saw of him, he was banging his bottle into girls on the dance floor. Finally one slapped him. Ugh… There but for the grace of God go we all.
Well, long story short, I think I met someone, but I woke up on the floor of my hotel room so I’m guessing I didn’t get anywhere.
All in all, it was a fine trip. I suggest it to anyone.
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Philosophy, cake, and sodomy. Mostly sodomy.
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