Day 19- As If Your Accent Wasn't Annoying Enough, You Like Bird Watching. Mother Of God.

Another day at sea, another morning started with a speaking engagement from my main man Bob McElwee.  Just as I was about to doze off yet again during one of his fabled NFL tales, I was saved by the bell.  And by bell I mean world's most amazing brunch spread ever!  We had learned the previous evening from our waiter that they only do one brunch per cruise now because of the atrocious cost of staging one of these events.  And believe me, when I call it an event, I mean it was an event.  There were hundreds of different food selections, dozens of the most immaculate ice sculptures I have ever seen, and hundreds of people scrambling to pile their plates as high as they could as if it was a competition to see who could eat the most the fastest.  Unfortunately, despite the amazing culinary delights in front of us, Colleen and I did not share the same enthusiasm for our tablemates.  We were randomly seated with a retired Asian-American couple from New Jersey who only knew how to talk about one thing: bird watching.  I mean shit, if you can think of anything more ridiculous than listening to someone with a Jersey infused Asian accent talk about birds for over an hour straight while you try and enjoy your fucking waffles, please let me know.  On the bright side, I am now very well educated in a wide variety of feathered species.  You know, just in case the category comes up on Jeopardy this week.

With the Birdman now out of our lives, God decided that he needed to punish Colleen and I a little more that day for reasons I am still trying to figure out.  That afternoon we decided to hit up one of the many hot tubs for what we believed would be a nice, peaceful, relaxing day.  After wasting away a bit of time, Colleen and I were joined in the tub by one of the very few other people below the age of 30 on the ship.  A few minutes earlier, we had been looking at him and his other male friend and wondering if they were homosexuals.  It just didn't seem like the type of cruise that two buddies would take together and on top of that he was wearing budgie smugglers aka a Speedo.  Well wouldn't you know it, but within a couple of seconds of this douche bag opening his mouth we had discovered that we were now trapped in a not particularly large hot tub with the biggest chauvinist on the high seas.  This fine specimen of a human being proceeded to talk about everything from which 60 year olds around the pool deck he would "stick it to" to telling my mortified girlfriend about his sexual conquests in Europe the previous month.  It's safe to say that Colleen was on the verge of vomiting when we were luckily joined by a rather large, retired Swedish gentleman who resembled a silver-back gorilla with short shorts on.  Either way, the silver-back wasn't telling me the ins-and-outs of his penis so he was a welcome addition to our aquatic surrounds.  Eventually, Casanova left but not before thoroughly disgusting my girlfriend and making me feel like a dirty human being for just being near him.

Our evening was fairly uneventful, with us taking one of our many trips to the Martini Bar.  Despite my best efforts, the bartenders would not make me a Diablo Martini.  And with that you ask: Why do they call it a Diablo Martini? Answer: Because it's a devil of a good time!

~Brentski~