Oh the ocean water was so warm. Refreshing. Relaxing. After you get in past your waist, that is. It’s like, I’m walking in, walking in, okay, okay—it feels cool but nice. Then—AAH! It hits my grapes! Why are grapes so damn sensitive? I guess that’s what makes them special. But it’s not so special when you’re trying to get deeper into the ocean. So of course I’m a big pansy and I stand on my tip-toes yelping, “OOH! Oooh! Ah!” The key is to just submerge your grapes right away. But no, I let a wave splash me right below the waistline. Aaaaah! Finally I resolve myself to just go all the way in. “Ah ah ah ah Aaaaaah.” That last “aaah” was a sigh of relief. I don’t know why I always go in so tepidly. I guess I can just be so damn tepid like that.

But I’m certainly not tepid when it comes to self-promotion. Ya know how Hogs do. I’m lying on the beach, perpetrating a tan, when I’m like, “BOOM! This is an awesome opportunity to get some free publicity for my website.” So I grab a stick and etch out HOGWILD.NET in the sand. All big-like. Shameless. I protected my bootleg billboard. These little brats wanted to build a sand castle on my turf, I was like, “Try it and die.” Lots of people saw it. If anyone who was down in the Bahamas with me is reading this, pop me an email (hogwild@hogwild.net). You gotta promote. I put business cards in the magazines on the plane. I’m ferocious. I demand my mother call 5 random people every day out of the phone book and tell them about HOGWILD.NET. I get her to do it with the old, “if only you cared enough to have breast-fed me as a baby” guilt trip. 

I told you I looked like a Burnt Penis. OUCH!

While inside recuperating from the evil Sun, Hog enjoys some Classic American TV.

Beside promoting, I also made some astute observations. Boobies. Man there were a lot of astute ones on the beach! No for real, lots of single bims were on their “Get-a-Man” Mission. You know how they are. All ho’d up and ready to slut. Got that lipstick on that was made to get smeared all over a man’s shirt collar. Wearing that new Calvin Klein perfume: “CK Desperate.” Twitching a 

This crab DID NOT crawl out of a SLUT's panties. I swear. 

Watching these bims on their Get-a-Man Mission was not the only form of entertainment. The Resort also put on stage shows. With a multi-lingual audience, all of the shows had to be very famous and recognizable musicals. So they did Grease, which was excellent. I love that soundtrack. In fact, at Summer Camp they nicknamed me Greased Lightning. And no, I didn’t have a car. Let’s just say all-boys summer camp gets very lonely. And I thought no one was looking. And it was dark and in the woods. And—shut up!

Go Grease Lightning Go!

Mrs. Potato-Head before her morning make-up. No, just kidding!

They also did a Michael Jackson show which was kinda cool. They couldn’t decide if they should use a white guy or a black guy to play Michael so they used a Mexican. It worked out. Almost the right complexion with the stringy hair. Except “Beat it” sounded more like “Burrito”, but maybe I was just hungry. The WORST show they did was the Talent Show. That’s where they run out of material and let the guests attempt to show off. Man, it should have been called the NO-Talent Show. I didn’t get up there. I figured my sand-billboard was enough publicity for one day. Plus only ½ of the audience spoke English. And at least 10% spoke French. I don’t perform for no Frenchies. I’d rather dance for the Krauts then sing for Frenchies. Actually it was a good cultural learning experience for me. People are people. No matter what nationality we’re all basically the same. Except the French women are a little hairier. And Americans are mostly fatter. And the English need to use fluoride in their toothpaste. Or maybe they just need to use toothpaste period. But in general, people are people. 

Many Nations' Flags fly above the Resort. I think, in line with Sports teams, America should have a Home and Away Flag. And one for Sundays. It'd be a great source of additional merchandising revenue. And make the Sunday Flag have black trim. The kids love to wear black. 

The worst act was these 2 little bratty girls, like the Olsen twins or something, singing and dancing to some Christina Aguilera song. God I wanted to belch a mountain of crap. It was so damn cutesy it made me fart a freakin’ rainbow, okay?! No! The WORST act was this stiff white guy in a Hawaiian shirt who sang, “I like that Old Time Rock & Roll.” I was like, “I used to like it too. Until you KILLED it!” Just think of an ironing board with a microphone and you can picture this nub.

Now for those of you who don’t like sex talk, tune out now. Mom, that mean you. It freaks me out that my mom sees my web page. But oh well. I gotta speak the truth. And Mom, the truth do get ugly. But in this case, it got hooter-licious. This is true. Now I’ve already told you about BFN’s (Big Fat Nasties) who have gone topless and how I’ve gotten inverse erections and so on. But now, FINALLY, God repaid me for the horrors I had seen previously. I’m laying down on the beach chair at the pool. My lovely bim to my left. Relaxing. Life is good. Got my $1.99 shades on. Gettin’ my pigmentation on. Chillin’ like a penguin’s testicles. Life is good. But suddenly, it just got better! YEEEEHA! 

The Bahamian God of Fertility. The Man wears this Mask while doinking the woman and clanging a frying pan yelling, "ME WANT EGGS! ME WANT EGGS!" Okay, I made that up. But your racist ass believed me didn't you?! 

This bim, to my IMMEDIATE right. Like 6 inches to my right. (Which was about to become THREE inches if you know what I mean, huh huh huh!) She pulls the string! Oh my God! What do I do? This has never happened to me before! I mean, I’ve seen Porky’s 1, 2, and 3. But I’ve never actually been in this real live situation. She’s laying on her stomach, with her bare boobies hugging the lounge chair. Oh how I yearned to be the plastic straps on that chair. Suffocating against 2 giant love bags. Oh. But these are bad thoughts because my beautiful, talented, loving Mrs. Potato-Head is right there to my left. The future mother of my future children is--- OH MY GOD SHE ROLLED OVER! Holy tish on a sandwich! She rolled over! There are two giant squeez’ums pointing up towards the sun! I’m 6 inches away from brand new, delicious booby-licious Snuggle Bubbles! I know what you’re thinking, “Hog, get a grip!” Well, that’s the same thing I was thinking! I know, I know, I’m a pre-vert. But the good Lord made me love luscious love muffins. 

And muffins they were! With huge raisin nipples! God those milk feeders were huge! Okay, serious question. Do nipples get larger in the sun? Like maybe they expand in heat or something. Because her nips were big. Very big. Like, put Kennedy’s head on them and you could exchange them for a dollar. Bims, email me if you know this to be true. But goodness, her hooters were like two toasted muffins. Two browned breakfast danishes with big cherry centers. Then, life got too good. You won’t even believe me when I say what happened next, so why bother? At least I have my memories. Oh what the heck! I swear on my Grandmother’s dog’s grave, this hottie bim with the bodacious bouncing balloons actually began—I’m biting my fist—oiling herself! Yes she’s oiled up her--- GOD! Now this was totally uncomfortable. I needed an ice-pack to keep down the swelling. I mean, she was oiling them up so generously I was like, “Ma’am, they’re not gonna squeak. You don’t need that much oil.” Okay it was a corny line. It was dumb. But I had to say SOMETHING! At least ACT indignant so if Mrs. P saw what was going on she wouldn’t get mad at me for ogling. Then SHE says, get this, NOTHING! Her wall of iron/boyfriend sits up in the chair next to her and stares at me. So um, I turn around to see if he’s like looking at a clock or something. Oh yeah, we’re outside. Yup, he’s looking at me. Oh boy. So I was like, “I’m gonna go request a song from the DJ. Want me to make a request for you? How about Greased Lightning?”

Coming up Next, the sixth and final edition of this Saga: Lettin' it All Hang Out