This Guy's a Goner

I was at the beach this weekend. The last two times I have been to the beach, a hurricane has struck shortly thereafter. What I'm wondering is, what kind of abusive relationship do I have with the ocean? Does it like my presence so much that whenever I leave, it just goes completely insane and trashes its room like a petulant teenager? Or does it hate me so much, it throws a major kegger whenever I leave? I guess it all depends on how the ocean feels towards people peeing in it.

Since I am an idiot, I forgot to bring my bathing suit on this trip. Actually, that was kind of fortunate, since the seat of my previous suit was stained brown from too many tubing trips. It looked like I had a permanent case of poopy pants. What life guard would want to save me if he thought I soiled myself? He'd look at me flailing away, then he'd see my shorts and say, "Forget it; this guy's a goner."

So, I had to buy a new bathing suit. My goal was to buy the cheapest suit that Wal-Mart had. Wal-Mart has a lot of cheap suits, but the cheapest was an neon orange and bright blue number that looked like something from the "Aquatic Rodeo Clowns" collection. Right after I bought that, I knew my days of beach crimes were over. There's just no way I could get away with anything, not wearing that thing. Even at midnight on a night with no moon, some dude on an oil tanker would see me out there in my suit, trying to take the life guard chair, and think I was some kind of lighthouse. They'd interrupt my gyrations as signals, and end up crashing into some ice berg. Blame me? Blame Wal-Mart!