It's a gas gas gas

I went to Gasparilla on Saturday. Gasparilla is a Tampa tradition that celebrates its founding, or something. I don’t really know the deal with the holiday; don’t much care, neither. Anyway, it’s kind of like Mardi Gras, except less tits and with more of a pirate flavor. I went, not because I had some overwhelming desire to, but because a friend at work offered me passes to the reserve seating, and since he was IN the parade, I kind of felt compelled to go. Plus, it did offer a fine opportunity for people watching.

I took my friend John with me. Try to imagine the two of us, neither one much for crowds and he far less than me, in a swarm of people all jockeying to catch poorly fabricated plastic beads (sorry, Indonesian children: it’s just how I feel). We did have much entertainment from the crowd, though.

There was the crew of lesbians down in front. Unattractive lesbians. I would say the one was reading a nine on the Mullet-o-meter. She was a penis and a fishing hat away from being in Deliverance. Then they started Frenching. And, no, I am not saying they began to eat snails and surrender at the first opportunity: actual tongue-swallowing was going on. It was quite disgusting, and not because it was lesbians, but because it was unattractive lesbians. And also because they weren’t hot guys.

I mustn’t forget to mention the gawp-toothed inbred mouth-breather that sprung up next to the lesbians like a mushroom on midnight soil. He was quite something. You know the faces that make up the candlestick/vase illusions? The ones with the impossible chins that curve upward to meet the severely mashed down nose? Yeah, that was about his profile. The piece de resistance, however, had to be the mole that perched like a fat leech (in color and shape, no less) on his left cheek. It was sort of like a train wreck: you just couldn’t look away, but you really, really wanted to.

However, the truly ugly people were those fuckheads who encouraged their children to whip beads at the people in the parade. They started off by just aiming at the cops and the security guards, but apparently the black students in the marching bands were worth more points. I will not forget the fat white bastard who cheerfully clapped his red-headed punk-ass bitch of a son on the shoulder when he finally managed to peg one. Fortunately, karma does exist: the little bitch got clipped on the ear himself by a big set of beads. I could hear the impact from where I was. It wasn’t everything he deserved, but I can read his future: it all balances out in the end.