Son of a Bitch
If you’re not easily offended (or if you are), Son of a Bitch is just right for you. It’s absolutely absurd.
Excerpts
Toward the end of the season, I put the boat up for sale. It wasn’t long before a man responded to the ad in the newspaper. He came by to see it and paid me three-hundred dollars in cash as a deposit. He said he would return to pick it up when he gets back from his vacation in the Caribbean. Not so much a vacation, he told me, but more of a quest. He said he was going to cross the Bermuda Triangle in hopes of disproving its myths of disappearing ships and vanishing aircraft. That was a year ago and I haven’t heard from him since.
For a guy like me, this playground is an easy place to find a mate. You would think these types of girls, this day and age, would snicker at the presence of an older man. But all it takes is a little bit of game and a little bit of liquid confidence. The buzz I have from drinking on my way here in the back of the ride share car, is at a good level. I order a beer from the bartender, a kid half my age, but only as something to hold in my hand. If I were to down another Bourbon, this game may go all to hell. I still can’t believe that little shit asks for my identification. I was cattle-prodding the oyster ditch with the lap rocket and sucking on love muffins before he was a single cell organizm in the bottom of his daddy’s dangly-bits.