Email Login

Strange Stories

Lunatic Commentaries

Entertainment Online

Daily Comics


Free Email


International Version

The Web The Weirdcrap

Ask Bob:
The weekly events of a lazy idiot as he stumbles through life, looking for answers to questions that nobody has.

Friday, April 08, 2005


Guest Writer!

While I work on the first print publication for TheWeirdcrap.com, Bel Garion will be filling in...
Vacation, why do we call leaving the civilized world vacation? We think of a vacation as time devoted to rest, pleasure, or relaxation. This past week we went for a “vacation” where we spent our time in a cabin in the middle of a Georgia wilderness. We didn’t “vacation” as much as we vacated or gave up modern society and reality for a time.

We arrived in “town” to find a post office house, a store called convenience store, a package store, a restaurant called café (with a sign indicating visitors welcome), a propane business, and a bank. Ten miles outside of town was the cabin that my girlfriend rented over the internet. The cabin overlooked a state park and we were high up enough to see some of Georgia’s foothills from a birds eye view. We received instructions for entering the cabin over the phone. There was no one to greet us, no office, just a cabin and a key. The cabin was comfortable, it had a spa bath tub (the main attraction), power, central heat and air, hot water, and bees, lots and lots of bees. They very much would have liked to have stung the shit out of us, but after speaking with them at great length and explaining that, yes, we rented the cabin and they could come back in after we left, they agreed to stay outside during our stay. Our cell phones were, of course, out of service. So we didn’t have anyone to call upon other than the lord, who freely admitted that he put the talking bees there as a joke, bastard. After settling in, we went back into town to pick up some supplies.

As I said before, town had a package store which we were delighted to discover meant that they sold liquor. We purchased two bottles of wine and a bottle of premixed mudslide. The woman behind the counter greeted us by saying, “You all stay’n on the hill?” and my girlfriend responded, “Yeh, yu prububly figerd wer not frum round here,” which sent me spiraling into horror movie survival mode. We were staying in a cabin with no phone, outside of a town where the postman probably doubles as a sheriff, the attendant in the first shop we entered knew where we were staying, and my girlfriend, who is from a small town that compared to this is a teeming metropolis, was attempting to speak in the local tongue, which definitely pissed off the local behind the counter.

People in horror movies don’t use condoms to my recollection, so off we went to the convenience store. We found it more fitting than accommodating. I searched the store and couldn’t find any condoms and it struck me that it was built more like an ACE Hardware than a gas station. It occurred to me to buy some bottled water, so I picked up a case of it and approached the counter. I politely asked the fat white woman who was eying me a like I was an alien if they sold condoms. She said “yes,” and reached up over the counter to grab an open family pack of Trojans, labeled not for individual sale, and asked “how many do you need?” Then, with great purpose, she walked over to the door to eye my girlfriend who was waiting for me in the car, than added, “I don’t know her.”

Now a family pack contains 50 condoms, so I explained, “I need 50 condoms.” I laughed hysterically, long and hard enough for her to feel uncomfortable. She called this old cowboy up from the back who eyed me carefully. It occurred to me that I am, compared to them, huge. “Five condoms would be great.” She started to speak to him and I interrupted, “I am creeping her out and she doesn’t know how much to charge for the water.” She looked at me like I was psychic, how could I have known there was no price on the water! The cowboy pulled out a calculator and figured the price of the case of water by multiplying his charge for the individual bottles by twelve. Determined not to burn the fucking place to the ground, I showed my teeth, paid the bastards, and returned to the car with my water and condoms.

Needless to say, we enjoyed our stay in the cabin itself, and since the lord asked us to, on the way out of town we revisited the convenience store to take pictures of the store, the cowboy, and the fat white woman all the while laughing hysterically. The woman started to cry and the old cowboy just held her until we left.
Coming Next: Three guys named "Moe."

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

Responsible Parties

© 2005 by TheWeirdcrap.com
"Insanity has found a home."