HogWild in Hawaii!

Part 2: Hot Hawaiian Stewardesses Smuggling Pineapples 

(For those not ignorant of American geography you can skip these parenthetic remarks. Everyone else you probably need to see this: The state of Hawaii is actually comprised of many islands— like a hundred. But there are about 8 main islands that people actually live on. The rest are like the tiny zits on your ass. They’re there one day and gone the next. A volcano erupts and BOOM a new island. But sometimes God will squeeze this land-pimple and it will disappear. Anywayz, the largest of the Hawaiian Islands is also named Hawaii. This confuses people so they also call it the “Big Island.” This is not to be confused with the “Big Dirty Island” (that’s Manhattan.) )

 So now we need to go on ANOTHER airplane. This one is to get us to Kauai. (A different Island of Hawaii.) But I was in for a treat I did not expect. I guess I was so exhausted that I didn’t realize the incredibly awesome possibility that Aloha Airlines would employ— get this— hot Hawaiian stewardesses!

My life is complete! It used to be that all female flight personnel were hottie-boom-bodies. Not anymore. Those bastard airlines (SPIT!) stopped employing aspiring actresses in their twenties and replaced them with Grandmas and Gay Guys. Holy crap! This my Hogz, is a travesty. When I’m on a plane and I want a semi-comfortable, unwashed, blue blankie to snuggle up in— I want it delivered to me by a blonde with her hair up in a bun with seductive curves that betray her stoic uniform. Rrrrrrrrrrar! When I request a cup of generic orange soda and a extra packet of kibbles & bits snack mix— I want it handed to me by the slender and delicate hand of a brunette leaning over slightly, exposing her two oversized carry-on items. I DON’T want it to be handed to me by a brunette with blonde highlights whose name-tag says, “Bruno.”

Oh God these hot Hawaiian stewardesses! Mrs. P got so mad at me. But she has to understand. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. When will I ever get this chance again? Never! Sure I pushed it a little bit. Maybe it wasn’t right to request a pillow. Then a blanket. And then that the Stewardess tuck me in. And then call her back for a goodnight kiss on the cheek. And then later act like I got my zipper stuck in the bathroom and I needed her to get it unstuck— with her teeth. I know. I’m a bad boy. A VERY BAD BOY! I’m sorry Mrs. Potato-Head. But I might have to trade you in for your Hawaiian-version: Mrs. Pineapple-Head!

I’m just kidding. It was a great vacation. I’m glad I had someone special to share it with. My remote control. I know it’s very loser-like but I don’t have cable TV at home! I’m missing all the action. All the SportCenters! All the Golden Girls! All the E! True Hollywood Stories! Let me tell you, E! is an incredible channel. It’s like MTV’s Spring Break without all the stupid music. Always big breasted bims in bikinis. The best show is of course, Wild On. Every episode, the heavenly-hootered hostess travels to a new exotic location and does a quasi-1^st-person-report on the culture and sights. Every episode is exactly the same:

“Here we are in _________ (fill in the blank). It’s so beautiful here! The water, the trees, the sky, the monuments! Okay, let’s go the famous shopping district! You wait here while I try on 27 different sexy outfits and model them in front of the camera! Do you like this one? How about if I pull this part off? Now let’s rent a sensible vehicle so we can travel the countryside. This cherry-red Lamborghini convertible should do. Oops! The wind blew my top off! That’s okay. Now I can steer with my breasts. Here we are at the beach. Wow! It must be Baywatch tryouts again! This is great but now it’s time to enjoy the world renown night life. I’ll get in this fancy strapless white cocktail dress. Time to drive to the restaurant! But I’m so tired of this Lamborghini. Let’s take the Limo. Oh look out the window, it’s one of those “Native People!” He’s so cute! He’s holding up a hand-scribbled sign, “Will work for Clean Underwear.” Come on girlfriends, let’s give him what he wants! I’ll just whip off my panties and fling them out the window! Tee-hee, this place is so quaint!”

“Finally, we’re at the restaurant. Hi, I’ll have the Seafood Extravaganza and a bottle of diet Cristal! Have to watch the figure you know! Ooh, look! Someone sent me a frothy drink with a cherry! Mmmmm, this cherry is sweet— I just want to— mmmm— roll it all over me face and tease it with my tongue! Now I’ll swallow it! Ha! I still have the touch! I twisted the stem into the shape of Abraham Lincoln’s face by only using my mouth! And the cherry doesn’t have any teeth marks on it!”

“Well looks like it’s time to go to the dance club! I’m sure we’ll see lots of hunks in swimming trunks and sexy ladies’ legs in thrifty thongs! Oh, and you know I can’t resist a good wet t-shirt contest!”

It’s always like that no matter where the location is. The episode I just described was actually Wild On… Lebanon. I’m not sure they even still do the show on location any more. Does it really matter? It could be taped in Albuquerque for all I care. WILD ON... ALBUQUERQUE!  Whatever. Just gimme my odd-angle zoomed-in camera shots of bikinis. Mrs. P had it right. She calls it the “Travel Porn Show.” I’m chillin’ in the bedroom and Mrs. P hollers, “Are you watching that Travel Porn show again?!” Uh, what? Noooooooo. It’s uh, a documentary on the rainforests of uh, Jamaica’s beaches.

Documentary. Please. At best it’s a documammary.

Oh crap, I got off-subject again. Another Hawaii Rant with almost nothing about Hawaii. Hmm. That’s not right. I’ll tell you one quick thing about this place.

Some of the natives pronounce Hawaii with a V. Like, Ha-vay-ee. Nah, chill, that’s bootleg. What kind of bootleg language doesn’t have a W sound? How can they say important words like um, WORDS! And Woman! And Wobbly Wampums! Hell, when I do my stand-up tour in Hawaii I will NOT be introduced, “Please give a Varm Velcome to the Vackest Vite boy ever to Valk on stage, HogVild!”

I mean, I can be culturally-sensitive. They pronounce their name a certain way. We should respect that. But hell, I pronounce MY birthplace a certain way but I don’t force tourists to call it New YAWK! Nah, I don’t have a harr-a-bull New York accent. But my brother does. And part of the New York dialect is cursing. My brother’s Expletive-to-Sentence ratio is right around 7:1. A little low for NY, I know. In New York, if you don’t want to get ripped off, you can’t act like a tourist. But it’s not enough to act like you know where you’re going. You also have to tawk the tawk. Here’s an example. You hop in a cab:

“Driver, please take me to the Statue of Liberty. Nice weather we’re having, ay?”

Let’s break down your mistakes. First of all, DRIVER? You ain’t in a limo, you’s in a taxi, fool! Nub probably doesn’t even speak English! Next mistake: “please.” Holy tish-on-a-stick! Where are we? Wisconsin? The word PLEASE hasn’t been used since the 1800’s. There is one exception, as in, “PLEASE stop stabbing me. I already gave you my wallet.” But even then, it’s debatable. And what’s this “nice weather we’re having” crap? No small talk! Do you think this nub really wants to talk to you anyway? Nub’s been driving for 36 hours without a shower trying to make enough bacon bits to bring the rest of his village to America. You’ll probably have to fart hard just to drown out his smell.

Here is how the new New York street-smart-you will handle this sichee-ay-shun:

“Yo Habib, take me to the Green Bitch. Drive fast.”

Note: Only use the name Habib if his name is not Habib. Otherwise he may misinterpret it as friendliness.

New York is a tough place. But Hawaii is not. It’s paradise with honey-brown babes and oceans that aren’t poisonous to fish and small children. The sand is clean. The mountains are beautiful. The flowers aren’t plastic. The air is fresh and breathable without the aid of a filter. In fact, for the first time ever, I had a SLOWDOWN in nose-hair growth because my body began adjusting to air with more oxygen than car exhaust.

Also in Hawaii I noticed that my testicles weren’t as angry. No wonder people live longer there. I’m here walking around with angry testicles— all bunched up and tied in a knot— but in Hawaii it’s like they say— hangin’ loose.