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Hog's trip to the Freeport in the Bahamas. He discovers that everybody's an alcoholic. He needs his Internet and Free Net Porn fix!  But soon he sees a topless girl! Read about his Island Paradise vacation!


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Hog's Trip to the Bahamas, Part 1: Everybody's an Alcoholic 

by  HogWild

PALM Trees and Big Bubble Booties I'd like to Palm!

Yes oh yes. This was going to be good. A trip down to the land of easy times and good women. Or was it . . . anyway, a nice break from my daily HOGWILD.NET chores. Not that it’s a chore semi-entertaining you with my half-wit, but nonetheless it was nice to get away from the hustle and bustle that is the Media Mecca of the Midwest, Dayton, Ohio. A great chance to relax. 


But, there was one terrible thing I hadn’t really considered. While on my Island Paradise I would have no, gosh it hurts to even say it, no-- Internet Connection! This may seem trivial to the average Surfer Joe, but to me, this was a dire reality I was not ready to face! You see, I have been intravenously connected to the Web since 1994. I’ve got a T1 line piped into my spine. I gotta have my NET! You forget how quickly you take your hourly email check-up for granted. Oh this was gonna hurt. 


HOUR 1 without Internet

I wanted to P.O.D. (Poop on Demand) but I could not. I wanted to avoid caramelling on the plane at all costs. Now, normally I’m very good at P.O.D. In fact, it’s one of my calling cards. The other is my O.E.M (Oscillating Ear Motion.) I am indeed a nub of many semi-talents. Pooping on an airplane is just nizasty. Where the hell does all of it go, anyway? Some huge tub under the aircraft? Does the pilot like, open the chutes over the Atlantic and dump it in the Boston Harbor? (As if anyone would notice.) 


And being in Dayton, Ohio it’s kinda tough to get a direct flight. Sure, there’s the Dayton-Des Moines, Iowa Connection. The Dayton-Indianapolis Shuttle. The Dayton-Biloxi . . . you get the idea. To get somewhere not over- run by corn, you almost always have to deal with connecting flights. To get to the Bahamas we had to leave at 5am and we wouldn’t arrive until 3pm! And there’s no time zone changes! Both Dayton and the Bahamas are in the 1950s! 9 hours of travel! Who am I, Christopher Columbus? Pilot was like, “We’ll be traveling with 2 other small vessels. Upon arrival we’ll be treated to complimentary spices but we may run into savage natives. And of course, there’s always the risk we’ll fall off the end of the Earth.”


The first leg of our trip was from Dayton to Cleveland. This quite possibly is the most unremarkable flight in the history of air travel. When you fly to NY, you look out the window and see the Statue of Liberty, Empire State Building, etc. When you fly from Dayton to Cleveland, you look out the window and see Toledo. “Wow. Look maw! It’s ANOTHER dung farm!”

Dee Plane! Dee plane!

Our trip was nearly canceled when an angry teacher almost crumpled up our airplane!

And this plane was SMALL! There wasn’t even a pilot. Just a 12 year old kid on the ground with a remote control. In fact, we barely made it to Cleveland because of low batteries. To turn, we were all instructed to lean in the desired direction. Yeah, it’s a bad sign when your plane is manufactured by Mattel. Being in a small plane is scary. I even overheard some terrorists talking in the airport, “I’m not gonna hijack that thing! It’s dangerous! We could die!” Wow it was a tiny plane. It was too small to even have a bathroom. We had to pass around a soup bowl. 

It's time to take off! Somebody wind up the rubberbands!

And no leg room at all! I think the seats were originally designed for leprechauns who had not yet hit their growth spurt. But I was psyched. This is the Bahamas baby! Sun, sand, surf, sexy sistas sellin’ straw hats! This was gonna be the bomb! But getting there was a struggle. I thought things were looking up when we got toCleveland Rocks! (And smells like soiled socks!) Cleveland because the WNBA’s Cleveland Rockers were on our flight!  I mean, I understand they’re cranky because they’re flying coach with the rest of us non-athletes, but c’mon! You’re supposed to be celebrities. At least ACT like you’re having fun. I mean, just because I asked her if she used the official Douche of the WNBA is no reason to hit me! 

12 Hours with No Internet

It’s been grueling. I need my fix. I don’t have up-to-date weather and news information at my fingertips. I don’t have my 

10,000 bottles of Irish Whiskey on the Wall, 10,000 bottles of . . .

I'll have aaah, some ah dat, and aaaah some ah DAT and aaaah...

on-line TV guide. Okay fine. I couldn’t access my FNP! (Free Net Porn). But this is the Bahamas. The stuff that FNP Voyeur sites are made of. We finally touched down. Now, of course when Hog travels it’s got to be all-inclusive, all-you-can-eat, all-you-can-drink. Now, I know the Resort usually wins on this deal because lots of people don’t drink every hour or <gasp!> they miss a meal. Not with tha Hog! If it’s Free, it’s for me! Honestly, I rarely drink. And I never got drunk in the Bahamas. It’s just not something I enjoy doing. I like being in control. Especially of my bladder. And if I’m throwing back a 12 pack of brewski’s that’s not easy. 

I have you now, you GLAM GATOR!

Besides eating and drinking, Hog also wrestled paper alligators.

So I did what any self respecting Hog would do in this conundrum. I paced myself at one drink an hour. A Pina Colada for breakfast. 2 White Russians for Lunch. A Bahama Mama at the Beach. A White Cow and Strawberry Daiquiri for dinner. A Crème de la Something for an after dinner drink. And a Rum and Coke before bed. See when drinks iz included, EVERYBODY becomes an alcoholic. I saw Grandmas doubled over their walkers at the bar, “Pash me another one Shunny!” Meanwhile the Frat boys are cheering her on to another Keg Stand. “CHUG CHUG CHUG!” Everybody’s two-fisting mixed drinks that, for some reason, aren’t even mixed. Why the hell do the bartenders at these resorts do that? Like, they dump all the alcohol on top! Maybe they know the guests only are going to slurp the “spirit-water” off the top anyhow. I dunno. But I sure did get my bacon bits’ worth when it came to the bar. But Goddam Mrs. Potato-Head kept ordering VIRGIN drinks! I’m like, “Dude, I want to see you trizzed.” The closest SHE came to getting a buzz was when she slurped up her NOTTA-COLADA too quickly and got brain freeze.


So now it’s been like 20 hours with no Internet. But tomorrow I’ll be persuaded not to think about all that when I see a topless bim! Part 2 coming soon . . .

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