quote:

STILL VOMITING

After hearing about the romantic atmosphere from friends, my husband and I decided we had to see it for ourselves. When we FINALLY were seated we found that the service was slow, the dress code atrocious, and worst of all - our crab was under-portioned as well as under-cooked. This would explain why I've been vomiting for the last 12 hours. Worst experience of my LIFE!

alnilam posted:

alnilam posted:

alnilam posted:

google THIS posted:

stayed for the potbellied European male tourists in speedos.

4/5

Detective Thompson posted:

Life's a beach, then you die!

Heard about this watery monstrosity from a colleague at work. He claimed it was the perfect spot for beating the summer heat. Yeah right, Carlos! Beat the summer heat?! More like be the summer heat! There's no shelter here whatsoever to keep you out of the hellish sun, though a number of enterprising, forward thinking patrons had brought novelty over-sized umbrellas with them. Obviously, they knew something we didn't. I suppose I should be clear and say there was one place where you could go to escape the nightmare gas orb, but it was some sort of public urination hovel and the floor was wet and sandy and it smelled just awful.

Anyway, I'll step back a bit. The wife and I got up around ten the morning of the fifth, took a leisurely stroll around Humungous Palms, our lovely private community, then left, nodding goodbye to Franklin, our jovial day shift gatekeeper. We stopped in at Puggos for brunch and a 'tini or two (I know, booze before noon, we're bad!), then set out to find this "wonderful" beach. Well, first off, the parking was terrible. The lots were full and the people had taken to lining the streets for miles with their SUVs and econoboxes. We thought this was a good sign, as the best spots are always the most crowded. Turns out we should have taken it as an ill omen.

There were several private lots, mostly full, but we managed to find one charging $40 for two hours. We surmised the high prices would ensure more open spaces, as well as a fellow clientele more to our liking. We were right, as there was plenty of room for the Hummer, as well as we met a nice couple from Omaha just pulling in their Maserati. We talked Reagan and beef for the few miles as we walked toward the beach, but somehow we ended up separated in the throngs of sweaty, coconut-scented people. Oh well, we thought, we'd surely run into them again. Finally, we made it to the beach.

Good lord! To our initial fright, the place was packed to the gills with mostly-nude people, either frolicking like Europeans in the water, or laid out in various lascivious yet somehow alluring positions on the ground, evidently soaking in the rays of the beastly sun. People like that, apparently! Upon first stepping on the beach, my wife was severely distressed by the surface. The loose sand was hard to walk on, and I had to do my best to keep her from falling over (Cordelia is quite delicate). We soon realized we were woefully overdressed. Expecting a refined, classy experience, I had worn my favorite dockers, along with a Pierre Gallia sport coat and ascot, topping the whole thing off with a classic captain's hat. Heck, I had driven out to the marina to get it off my yacht (good old Lady of the Wet)! My wife had worn her best ermine wrap over a simple black dress, along with the high heels she had got on sale at Nordstrom for $579. She does love a good bargain!

Before too long, we were sweating like Pablo and his gang doing our yard work, so we sought out some sort of shelter. That was when I first encountered the aforementioned public urination hovel. Fleeing from that abysmal location as quick as we could, we determined that, if we could not escape the heat, we could at least try to escape the noisome crowds. Cordelia was beginning to get the stirs, a condition brought on by excesses of noise. We walked for quite some time, past screaming child after screaming child, lewdly dressed teenage girls in their revealing underclothes, so supple, past oiled musclemen and corpulent beasts alike. Finally, we spotted a promising locale, and made for it.

The cove was truly wondrous, the sort of place we were expecting at first. Cool, sheltered, somehow devoid of others, we took a chance and sat directly upon the rocks themselves, and it was heavenly. At first. As we sat and chatted, my wife suddenly froze, a look of terror upon her face. "What is, sweat meats?" I asked. She raised a palsied hand, pointing behind me. Slowly I turned, afraid of what I'd see. There it was. The most abominable creature I had ever laid eyes on. Though it was quite small, barely bigger than my own hand I would estimate, it was unbelievably fearsome. How can I describe such a creature? A writer would feel the urge to be purple in his prose, but I think a bare description would best serve the demon. Six legs, an ovoid body, black, beady eyes, the whole wretched thing covered with such armor that a Medieval knight would be jealous. And worst of all, its hands. Its hands! And hands they were not, no, but horrible things such as I have never seen, terrible, pinching things that could surely rips a man's limbs from his body! The horror!

As you can imagine, we tried to remain as still as possible, not wanting to draw the thing's attention. But my wife, my poor, fragile wife, could not help herself when the animal took a step forward. She shrieked, like an Irish Banshee. The beast lifted its murderous grabbers at us and Cordelia ran! For a moment I was stuck in terror, but my manly instincts kicked in and I rose, chasing after her. I saw her for a brief moment, but she quickly became lost in the masses. I searched and searched, asking people if they had seen her. They were no help, alas, and I was forced to contact the constabulary. They assured me they would do their best to find her, and sent several of their men out. To their credit, they searched for hours while I took refuge in a local wine shop, too overwhelmed by the situation to be any help in a search and rescue situation. Even when the evil sun sank into the ocean itself, and glass after glass of pinot sunk into me, they looked, lights sweeping over and over the beach, this now-unbearable location.

That was a week ago. Cordelia seems to be lost for good. If she still lives, I hope she is happy wherever she might be. If she has perished, an outcome the constabulary assured me as most likely, then I hope it was not painful for her delicate soul, and that she's in a better place now.

Also, the Hummer was broken into and the lot's landlord had the gall to charge me the full $240! Outrageous!

This is the last time I listen to the men that empties my office trashcan.

Parking: Awful
Atmosphere: Very hot and uncomfortable
Location: Nicely situated but terrible nonetheless
Amenities: None
Wine shop: Surprisingly delightful if not a little understocked
Dining: Only fit for pigs
Wife: Lost

One star out of eleven.

dogcrash truther posted:

Heckuva intro post here