August 8, 2012

Sex on the Beach! Everybody's Doing It!

The beach is full of whores. 

Found in all shapes and sizes, beach whores are a breed of women who lose all sense of dignity the moment they smell that breeze coming off of the water. Once the sun hits their greasy, orange skin, all bets are off. Except for slut bets. Those are still on. They're always on.

After spending an extended weekend at Wasaga Beach, a place near and dear to my heart, namely for the day drinking, my awareness of this slutnomenon (slut-phenomenon, stay with me folks) skyrocketed.  The most shocking discovery? Age is not a factor in ones whorability on the beach.  I’m 90% sure one of the skanky grannies even had her ladybits cornrowed. Why do I know this? Well, my friends, no one can wear a hot pink mesh thong and expect discretion.

Beach culture perplexes me. Everyone is nearly naked and covered in oil. Women lay straddling their boyfriends on their beach blankets, as if passersby aren’t being forced to imagine them bangers’n’mashing, as children sit nearby indulging in the delicacy of sand pie and lake tea.  You would think watching a bunch of screaming kids eat dirt and pick their wedgies would be enough of a bonerkiller, but it would appear that the beach whores are impermeable to such blatant reminders of their sexual indiscretions. Let’s go bang in the lake, baby! The water is pretty much a condom anyway.

Watching men and women interact in the sand is like watching Animal Planet. My homosexuality allows for objective observations. (It doesn’t really, I just wanted to use the word homosexuality today. It’s just one of those days.) Mating behaviours between men and women are not unlike those between two women. When it boils down to it, we all just really want to get it in. Am I right girls!? … Ok, so maybe some of us are also looking for companionship and other hot topic items I’ve heard T-Swifty sing the living fuck out of, but let’s be real. Generally speaking, when you’re flailing sand around like a drunk walrus with heat rash to get some beefcake’s attention, you ain’t looking for a hubby. You lookin’ for an STI scare.

Despite the overwhelming abundance of cellulite, I’ll keep the discussion of “beach bodies” to a minimum. Much like nude beaches, those who chose to bare all/close to all are rarely ‘sexy’(I realize this is a very big overgeneralization. Suck it.) This is probably going to surprise you, but I’m not going to complain about it. If you’re comfortable flaunting your stretch marks, saggy tits, microballs or thunder thighs, all the power to you. You’re a fucking rockstar and I hope you don’t get skin cancer on your labia. 

Regardless of what you wear or who you do on the beach, the most important thing is to be sure you keep hydrated... (before you start thinking I’m offering a piece of legitimately responsible advice, let me elaborate) with liquor.  If you’re not drunk, you’re not going to appreciate the beach whores or skanky grannies nearly as much as you should. Besides, sand tastes way better after a 26 of vodka and a handful of weed cookies.


Pop Quiz! 
What's your favo(u)rite beach moment?  
Me? Oh, you know, stepping on a used syringe is up at the top of my list... right behind getting my foot run over by a car. Ain't no thang. 


In the spirit of blog recognition, I have appointed a winner to last post's challenge! 
It was tough because I'm extremely in love with all of you, and your rhyming techniques do not fail to impress. 

The winner of the rap challenge is.... my dear fucking hilarious friend at Cerebral Milkshake!

Her submission: 
You know I fucking suck at rhymes
'Cause I don't do it all the time
Awe, don't throw a fit,
'Cause, chicka-check it, it's Britt
She all up in the boozing and baking
The writing she do is funny making
She lives up north in CanAyDia
And likes to drink Vodka and Gatoradia
Check her rockin' the fu manchu
She be in style when she says "achoo"
Now I gotta stop 'cause I'm laughing hard
'Cause this rhyme proves that Imma fucktard.


(She had me at 'fu manchu'.)


  1. I have one word for you:


    that counts as one word right?


      Now I want to know what has caused such an exciting outburst.

  2. This was INCREDIBLE! Having lived in Florida my entire life, I'm quite familiar with what an ocean breeze does to a set of morals.

    And if you ask me, I think T-Swifty should right a song about that!

    1. I think you should write her and suggest that she do just that. I'd be much more likely to buy that shit than the crap she's spewing now.

      Mmmmm moral debilitating ocean breezes.

  3. Lake tea? OH, you were on a LAKE beach. That doesn't count. I grew up on the Jersey Shore where it is MUCH more civilized--- oh. Shit. That fucking show.

    Well I was down south. FAR from "Snooki."

    1. Well technically it's a "bay" but "bay tea" is just confusing and silly.

      I know that the ocean is more 'legit', but as long as there is sand and drunk walrus women, I'm sold.

      ;) I trust you're far classier than Snooki.

  4. You liked my rappy-rhyme. THIS PLEASES ME.
    Sadly, I have very vague memories of the beach when we lived on the east coast. Here, we have some dirt with the occasional giant water hole that some refer to as lakes, but you have to travel a bit to get there.
    We do, however, get giant tidal waves of dirt that engulfs whole cities called "haboobs" and that shit is funny as hell. And also not at all related to your post.


      Haboobs can't be a real word. I refuse to believe it.

    2. It totally is a word! Google that shit.
      "Haboobies", however, is not a real word. I learned this when I stated out loud, upon seeing what appeared to be two giant mounds of dirt roll in, "We're about to be nestled in giant, dirty Haboobies!".
      (On a side note, I do recommend you google Haboobs in Phoenix and check out the images if you've never seen what they look like. It's ten shades of neat/creepy/awesome).

  5. I think it's cute when you crazy Canucks spell words with extra letters like in "behaviours." :) I think I'm going to start doing that because I was born so damn close to the border (seriously, like 0.5 miles) I think that makes me an honorary Canadian. And let's face it: I love everything about your country.

    1. I'm happy to hear you love my country so much. As a vital member of our population, I hereby declare you an Honourary Canadian.

  6. Here in Iowa, lakes are the only outlet for the beach whores to get out their sluttiness... and man, Iowa sluts are usually in pretty rare form. Cowboy boots and the like. (Seriously? Boots in the sand? Really?) I always enjoy finding used condoms floating in the water near our Bible camp beach...

    1. HA!
      They probably wear cowboy boots to avoid stepping on any mysterious, sandy condoms.

      While they may be rare, Iowa sluts sound like a good time.

  7. You make the beach sound like such a classy place. I am so intrigued/horrified at the idea of old lady cooch cornrows.

    My fauvoriute (did I spell that right? I know there's an extra "u" in there somewhere...) beach memory consists of multiple experiences that were more or less the same. There's a place on the tip of Cape Cod, Massachusetts where all of the gays live. (They essentially got pushed as far off the mainland as possible.) Once a year all of the youngish lesbians in the northeast take over the town, renting all of the houses for a long weekend. You literally can't drive on the streets because it's packed with lesbians. Which means the beach is also packed with lesbians. In beach attire. That is revealing yet more tasteful than the skanks of which you speak. Excellent place to stay hydrated and make new friends/ogle strangers.

      It's seriously my goal to get there one of these summers. I have a group of friends in Montreal who go down every year.


      I laughed out loud with the 'fauvoriute'. You were pretty close. That's by far my favourite (;)) attempt at Canadian spelling to date.

    2. Well I went ahead and took a quick vote. Everyone (myself and Diva, the dog) voted that you should mosey yourself on out this way next May. Hearing that people come from other countries is my fauviriute piece of news this week.

    3. That's a pretty hard vote to dispute. It's so official and democratic.

      Head to Provincetown or Boston in May?? Either way, YES!

    4. Yes. Do this.
      And it was extremely democratic. Especially the part where I asked the dog to give me his paw and counted it as a vote.

  8. *giggle* You said you have a group of friends who "go down" every year...Oh, sorry. I forgot I'm not 12. *giggle* (Yes I am.)

    I am not much for the beach--I have ridiculously fair skin, so the beach involves too many clothes, feeling too warm, slathering myself with gooey sunscreen, and ending up fucking sunburned to all hell anyway. This is why I like beach/lake houses: I get all the view and fresh air, but I can hide in the shade. Plus? The booze is colder due to ready fridge/freezer access.

    My favorite lake house memory is from when I was in undergrad. (3rd year? 4th year?) After a day of sleeping in late, grilling, drinking, and napping in the hammock, we had a party with about 75 or so people. Once it was dark most of us went skinny dipping. We ran from the house and down the dock, stripping off our clothes as we ran. I was the last to get out of the water (because it felt so divine I could not figure out why I would want to return to land)--two of my friends were left behind to make sure I didn’t drown, and they finally persuaded me out of the mermaid life--and subsequently the last to get dressed. As I gathered my clothes on the way back to the house, I discovered that my underwear was missing. It was a favorite pair, so I was quite disappointed.

    Throughout the night, I kept asking people if they had seen my underwear, but no one had. Finally, my friend Janica came up to me and said, “I think I found your underwear!” She drags me into the other room and points out a pair of panties wadded up on the floor. “Are those your panties?” “Ummm…No. No, those are most definitely not my panties.” I never found my underwear that night. But at least I wasn’t the only one.

    Oh, and I got to spend some time making out with a super hot Brazilian exchange student. She had awesome boobies. As in, boobies that inspire awe. I think that is my favorite “beach” memory.

    1. Your novel-sized comments make me so happy. I feel like I'm sitting down to read a whole other blog entry story.


      I have a group of friends that I HOPE go down regularly... much more than once a year. No judgement if they don't, but you know, step it up.

      That sounds like a great beach experience. I haven't skinny dipped in AGES. That wonderful mermaid feeling is truly unlike anything. Why the fuck would Ariel give that shit up. What a dumb slut.

      Hot Brazilian exchange student with awe inspiring boobs? YOU'RE LYING.

    2. Yeah...I seriously can't shut up. It is part of my charm--or, at least, that is how I am trying to sell it.

      FOR REAL. You gotta bring the game on a regular basis. It's the only way to play.

      It was. I love swimming naked. And, yes, Ariel was a dumb hoe in innumerable ways. She was pretty much the anti-feminist parable.

      I KNOW! That should be a lie. If there was any justice in the world it would be--that shit would only happen in John Hughes movies (if John Hughes was a little more open minded). But it happened. And then I woke up on a mattress in the middle of the floor between two friends with an insane bruise on my big toe that went through my toenail (and didn't go away for MONTHS)and orange juice (I think...I'm 95% sure) in my hair (lost a lot of hair brushing that out). But then I got tater tots for breakfast, so it was an over all win.

    3. Are we the same person? Can we eat tater tots for breakfast together WHILE skinny dipping please? (this is sounding a lot more like a 'come on' then I intended...)

  9. The water IS pretty much a condom, I don't know why they don't teach this in sex ed class. Thanks for saving me money!

    1. That's the kind of shit the doctors don't tell you. It's a conspiracy.

  10. I hate the beach. Almost as much as camping.

    I love you, though.

    1. Of those three things, I'm definitely the most lovable. I'm much less sandy than the beach, anyway. Probably. WINK.

  11. I'm so grateful I've never seen a skank grnnie at the beach, especially not one with cornrowed ladybits. I would have had to bleach my eyeballs.