Well. How about that. While cruising down the strip if Myrtle Beach, I came across this odd little devil.
Deep in the heart of the Redneck Riviera stands true this store complete with an alleged Elvis cove.
If Myrtle Beach is just Pigeon Forge on the shore, I say we get one of these there. Of course you know some locals might not take too kindly to that…
The sea beckons to me. It calls me. It asks me not to pee in it.
I really find the sights and sounds of a warm beach to be one of the most relaxing joys in life. As long as the sharks stay out at sea that is…
Stumbling down the aisle in Walmart, trying to swim through a see of Rascals and pajama-bottom clad food stampers as I gathered up my weekly ration of Mountain Dew and French Bread Pizzas, I turned a corner to come face-to-face with the then unrealized notion that I needed a new pair of sunglasses.
And there before me stood the Burning Bush of merchandised cardboard displays which spoke to me in a deep and commanding voice and beckoned for me to make an epic choice.
It sounded a lot like Timothy Olyphant with a splash of Jonathan Winters just in case you’re wondering.
You need sunglasses.
You must have sunglasses to be cool and accepted by society.
And to be able to function on a day to day basis unless you want that huge ball of fire in the sky to fry your eyes out and permanently blind you.
But you must choose: Paula Deen or Nelly.
Apple bottoms or butter sticks.
It’s bright out there.
…time for another round…
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