Aint That a Beach
It’s been way too long since I’ve felt hot sand under my feet, it’s been way too long since I’ve eaten a big schweaty wiener prepared by Malchow. I cut school that day so I could go to work early, get my hours in, fatten up my favorite leather wallet, and get off at noon so I could get to the beach boy-eeeeeee. I do have an affinity for our convoys that we travel in, I enjoy Cahill’s superior driving capabilities, and his turns sharp enough to cut yo mutha. Than again, I am partial to the ruggedness, the brauns, the compensating factor of Kyle’s big blue jeep. It was the last day of a freakish hot spell in San Mateo in the middle of fuckin February, but of course over in the asscrack of the Bay Area we could see our breath over in Half Moon Bay. So anyway after we downed our wieners and Kyle his sandwiches, we got to work on our goddamn dam and made fiya.
As if the land and the air wasn’t cold enough, I got in the water cold enough to make my balls retreat into my anus, but surfing on that tire was worth it. Same with the sail. I tried taking a bite of this big hunka wood and it hurt my teeth real bad, I wouldn’t recommend it.