Another Wrightsville Trip

We went back to Wrightsville this past weekend. We're trying to use the place more often to send the message to Granny that it's important to us, and perhaps get her to re-plan her estate so that we inherit the condo, preferably in some manner that avoids estate taxes, which our glorious socialist leader will likely increase during his regime. Anyway, this weekend we didn't encounter quite as many transgressions by filthy huddled masses, but there was a most annoying feeling of overcrowding, particularly when we opted to have lunch at the Trolley Stop. While long lines have been customary, we were not accustomed to being without a table at which to eat. Hordes of dead-eyed teenagers were occupying the outdoor tables, but in very uneven distribution. One table was occupied by six lowlifes munching on individual bags of potato chips, while another was occupied by one cunt-hole sipping a drink, holding the table for herself while her friend purchased comestibles inside. So we had to plop our asses on a bench in the hot July sun and eat without a table upon which to rest our lunch. And of course as soon as we were firmly encamped, a table freed up. My wife says it wasn't this crowded a few years ago.

There weren't quite as many trashy-looking people down there this weekend. Two eyesores who stand out in my memory are a pair of gangly teenagers who were hanging around outside the Trolley Stop, wearing their idiotic plaid garments that are somewhere between trousers and shorts, slung low on their bony waists, with shirtless, precancerous torsos decorated with silly tattoos whose placement seemed to be random at best. Both cretins were sporting the wispy beginnings of what they wish were Van Dyke beards, and their empty heads were topped with those clownish skater baseball caps. You know the kind: muted colors, bizarre patterns, bill perfectly flat, and turned out of alignment with the body's axis. I wanted so badly to bash them with a 4-cell Maglite and tell them to go back to Carolina Beach.

We're fairly sure that on Friday night we were being picked up by swingers. At Lagerheads, when I came outside with our drinks, a couple in their 40s were talking to my wife. The female had approached her and said she looked like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. OK, so she looks like a high-priced hooker? Anyway, they were obviously a bit intoxicated and were making out way too much for a 40-something couple. They didn't actually talk about swinging or invite us anywhere. It was just a vibe we got from them, and something weird about the way they were looking at us. For whatever reason, they wandered off, thank god. Maybe they were looking for a 3-way with a stranger and lost interest when I showed up, I dunno.

The rest of the evening was fun. We moved on to Neptune's and I proceeded to get drunk on Fat Tire, a delicious local brew similar to Boddington's. We stumbled back to the condo around 1AM with a pizza from Vito's and chomped down 3/4 of it before going to bed. This was after having eaten a McDonald's angus burger and large fries on the ride down. Needless to say, the chocolate stork visited me repeatedly the next day.

On a completely unrelated topic, I find myself growing bored with my Crown Vic. I feel like it attracts too much attention, being a former cop car and all. I've put stickers on it, but while they diminish the lawman look, they also make the car look trashy. If I had a few grand lying around, I'd probably buy a used Explorer. I'd prefer a black one, since black cars look badass, and tint the windows heavily. I've wanted to repaint my Vic black, but it costs too damned much. After driving both sedans and SUVs, I've come to prefer SUVs. We take ours on all our long trips nowadays. The high ride helps us see more of the road ahead, and the dark windows keep the car cool in the summer heat. Plus there's that whole '90s nostalgia that goes along with SUVs. I remember the rich kids at my high school getting new Jeep Cherokees for their birthdays. One little shit got a brand-new Land Rover Discovery for his 16th. A late '90s Cherokee or Explorer would be a thrill to drive, just for the '90s nostalgia. I could deck it out in period style like I did with my Vic, with a '90s inspection sticker, period CDs, and my old Motorola Tele-TAC. Remember Frank Black's bright red Jeep Cherokee on Millennium? So beautifully '90s. Looks like it belongs on my high school's parking lot in 1998.

I recall a newspaper article from around 1997 called "Big is Back" or something like that. The main photo featured a man looking at new Ford Expeditions on a dealer's lot. The article talked about big SUVs, cigars, and other extravagances that were becoming hugely popular in the boom times of the late '90s. I dunno, if I can find a bargain-priced '90s Explorer that gets about the same fuel economy as my Vic, and then get some money for the Vic, I'd about break even. I'd hate to lose the Vic, though. It'd be a good spare vehicle, and if the need to impersonate a government agent ever arises, it would be a convincing prop. Ugh, you see why I need lotto money? If not the jackpot, at least a few grand to satisfy my vehicular desires. With about 10 grand, I could buy a used Explorer and have enough left over to paint the Vic black.