Highlights from King Gut's Cruise

Even before boarding the pimped-out cruise ship something struck my fancy. We were boarding the ship from San Juan, Puerto Rico, and after a 3 1/2 hour flight where the waitress kept hitting on me by offering me free shots to get me drunk and join the Mile High Club with her, I had to piss like a laxative-induced puppy on a new white carpet begging to have its territory marked. Most airports employ the automatic flusher because no one in their right mind would use their hands to flush the toilet due to the ubiquitous, urine-drenched handle (it's ok, you can look it up later).

To circumvent these water-wasting automatic flushers this airport had these fucking kick-ass foot-flushers. Pushing that pedal and watching your excrement fall into the yellow abyss is tantamount to driving a deluxe convertible and accelerating down an open highway with the wind billowing about. The only difference is that you're in fact not moving, you can't look to the sides for fear of dong sightage, and instead of a CD the ambient sound is people going, "AHHHHH, I've been holding this in for a looong time." I wish I could have taken a picture of those kick-ass foot-flushers, but something about taking pictures in a public bathroom just didn't tickle my fancy.

Upon boarding the ship, I noticed that a lot of young people were wearing bright colored bracelets. I decided to get to the bottom of this little mystery by asking one little tyke, and I quote, "Pardon me, young man, but I have graced you with my presence so as to inquire about that fine adornment on your wrist." As the little boy was about to answer, I clarified my question, unnecessarily, with, "Why do you look so fucking feminine with your bright green bracelet?" As he was about to respond, I further refined my query with, "I don't know where your parents went wrong, but they should beat some sense into you with a de-pussifying stick." If he hadn't started crying he would have told me, as I later found out, and which isn't really important, that all kids under 12 had to wear those wristbands to identify themselves as kids who needed help in case of emergency. What is important, however, and also a damn, damn crying shame is the ship's gross mis-use of these wristbands. While it may be a noble cause (or a worthless one, depending on the viewpoint) identifying little children who won't be able to find the life-boats by themselves, the wristbands should go one step further.

They should be color-coded so as to identify those fine bitches that may cause King Gut, and others his age, to go to jail. Fucking great, I know who's 11 and younger and who's 12 and older. How about the difference between an 18 year-old and a 16 year-old? That's harder to tell the differenence between than Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan. (I don't really know how to spell those, and neither should you.) While the difference may not be discernible to the naked eye, the potential results are polar opposites--namely, one involves a jolly good time, and the latter involves jail time and hence the ability to shit a one-foot wide log.

But I think this problem extends beyond just the cruise ship--this is a problem that tens of millions of American men face every day. Any time you've gone to a frat party (or even a public pool for that matter) no one knows if that chick with the junk in her trunk is actually a townie from a nearby high school. Luckily, in Charlottesville and towns like it, it's easy to discern the college students from the townies, however, because we have all our teeth and they smell like incestual lust. To remedy this, I've written a letter to my state congressman proposing that every year after the age of ten chicks should have to go to a federally sanctioned tattoo parlor and get a different color tattoo depending on her age. Well, you say, "What if she goes to an unofficial tattoo place and gets the tattoo color of someone older? HAHA King Gut your idea is stupid." One step ahead. When that chick then shows up to the federally sanctioned tattoo parlor and they realize the color is wrong, they will immediately execute her, no questions asked and no explanations allowed. You know why those countries that kill people for simply littering have so little crime? Because that extent of reprimanding works, and that's what we need in America to stop these high-school chicks from wooing us over-age college men. Once we can be assured that this system doesn't tolerate no-good, two-bit cheating whores, each guy will be issued a little wallet-size color-coded card with a key telling the age of each color of tattoo (yeah I know, I was going for as many dashes as possible there).

Have any comments that you would like to share with King Gut? Email me at: Gutmeister8@netscape.net

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