THE EPIC LABOR DAY SAGA: DAY 1
Labor Day - The first Monday in September, is a creation of the labor movement and is dedicated to the social and economic achievements of American workers. It constitutes a yearly national tribute to the contributions workers have made to the strength, prosperity, and well-being of our country.
I get all teary-eyed just reading that. Too bad I spent my labor day weekend in Homer, Alaska. The fragrant city of Homer is cozily nestled in the ass crack of the Alaskan coast. Its most popular tourist attraction, “The Homer Spit”, is a long slender peninsula which resembles a large, flaccid penis poking into the Pacific Ocean’s hip. Speaking of flaccid penises, I spent half of the 4-hour drive to Homer behind a senile old man in an R.V. so tremendous it was nearly twice the size of his prostate. Judging from his low speed and a constant wobble to and fro, I’d say that this was the world’s first man to drive a motor home and receive a colonoscopy at the same time. And what’s worse, he even had one of those stupid sticker maps of the US. You know, those little state stickers they display on the ass of their RV after they’ve tainted a particular state. Granted, the 40,000 gallons of gas they require for each trip makes Alan Greenspan all fuzzy on the inside, but dammit, they’re fucking up my O-zone layer with their shitty emissions and old people farts. I tell you what old man, I got a sticker for you, it’s a big flaming hell sticker, because that’s where you and your RV are visiting in about two seconds when I run you off the road and you plummet into a frigging ravine. Maybe on your way down you’ll feel what its like to go the speed limit, courtesy of gravity.
Anyways, when I arrived at my final destination, the first item on my list of things to do was to breathe some fresh air; the stink in my car was so thick it was burning my face. Leaving the stink behind me, I stepped out of my car and was very pleased to find that homer had a new stink all of its own, ten times more vile than that of my Honda. It mostly the odor of dead fish and hobos, but there was something more… If I had one word to describe it, I would have to say “crotch.”
Moving to item two on my list, I began an elaborate and extremely complicated stretching dance in order to stretch several muscles, particularly my right buttock. Some nearby homer guys mistook this as a sort of hello, and they sauntered over. Long story short, the friendly homer guys were in actuality a pack of carnivorous man-hunting homer girls. Naturally they were quite offended when I commented on their sinewy male features and asked them to arm wrestle; I managed to get hit in the face only twice by dead fish before I narrowly escaped to my hotel room.
I was staying a place named “The Land’s End” hotel, which was cleverly located at the end of the spit, or the head of the penis, if you will. The establishment offered very little in the way of accommodations or entertainment, and I found myself spending most of my time brainstorming alternate names for the hotel. “The End of all of Daniel’s Fun” hotel and “Beat me raw with a burlap whip and pretend I’m staying in a hotel” hotel were two of my favorites. More and more during my stay in Land’s End I found myself hoping that I would slip on some of the sludge that blankets the streets and dislocate my sixth vertebrae just for the hospital beds - they couldn’t be any worse than the springy iron slab that hid in my couch masquerading as a hide-a-bed. Honestly. I huddled in the corner and slowly rocked myself to sleep, hoping that tomorrow held better things.
THE SAGA CONTINUES! DAY 2 COMING SOON…