Traffic. The office. The gym. The kids. Being "productive." All of these ordinary items have one thing in common: they suck. Yet they seem to consume our mundane lives, forcing us to trample the meaning of our existence into the ground so vigorously that it sticks to our shoe while we walk, and we don't even notice it right away, until we are like, "Hey, is something on the bottom of my shoe?" And when we look, we see that we have stepped in our own lives, and tracked it across our new carpet. This is going to be a bitch to get out!
So I decided to fuck it all and go on a vacation! My life sure needed some spicing up, and I was I ready to grab life by its proverbial testicles and run, run, run. I did not want the traditional vacation, such as going to the beach, camping in the woods, cruising the oceans, or back-packing across Europe. No, I wanted something special.
I decided to call my travel agent and good friend Tammy McMackulson, who, in my mind, really 
knows how to vacation. We settled on a fabulous idea that would be both family-oriented, as well as relaxing and exciting. I was to do a month long package deal that would give two different destinations and leave me feeling rejuvenated and alive again. I packed hurriedly as I spoke with Tammy on the phone, and rushed to the airport to begin the fun.
The first stop on my vacation was exciting, as it appealed to my love of warmer climates. Tammy booked me a luxurious crag in the third layer of Hell. I had a view of nearly all of the layers, twenty-four hour access to a multitude of torture chambers, and my own pool of boiling magma in the rear of my crag. I even took a photograph with Lucifer and was sodomized by demons on several occasions! The people there were all so accommodating and friendly, and it was not uncommon for strangers to tear at your flesh while visiting. One recommendation for the interested tourist: they don't have soap in Hell. I do not know why, but bring your own.
After enjoying my two weeks of damnation, I decided to high-tail it to the Lone Star State, otherwise known as Rhode Island, for the Tri-Annual Lemon Party Fiesta Spring Bash, or TALPFSB. This proved to be another social hot spot, and I made friends with four gentlemen, Gary Stilwalkski, Bruce Chuckmanistan, Paul Herostki, and Lou. Lou (pictured, bottom left gentleman), who did not remember his last name, acted as a sort of unofficial tour guide for the two week TALPFSB, and by week two we were even sharing a room. There were fun activities nearly every hour of the day, such as playing strip bingo, making macaroni busts of live models, or simply playing jacks in the shade of an old elm. We reminisced on the so called "Golden Days" of the Coolidge administration, and we always ended our nights with Jell-O.
So I now return to the seemingly trivial repetitiveness of my life. The times I had were great; watching the Second Horseman of the Apocalypse singing Shania Twain in the Karaoke bar was nearly as funny as when Lou broke his hip during his morning bath. The laughs and memories will never be forgotten, nor will the valuable lesson that I learned this past month: live you life, but make sure you live it well, and don't forget to stop and smell the damn roses.
