Cedar Point III: My Neglected Prostate
So there I was all alone and with every care in the world. An island of solitude in a sea of Woodstock 94. I decided to find a place to have dinner. I would turn this desire into a mission of finding company. My big idea was to poke my head into every place serving alcohol to see if any SGers were living up to their (now realized phony-bologna) reputation as rummy fish. In one restaurant, I made every conceivable effort to explain to a lovely, but very foreign hostess that I did not want a table for one (again), but rather wanted to make a quick walk-through to see if my friends were in attendance. Luckily, a conscientious bus boy, a true Good Samaritan knowing bus boys grave reputations, happened to be walking by, overheard, and okayed my request. How a bus boy gets this type of authority Ill never know. He must have a big penis. Of course, no one I might accuseI mean guess, of being involved with SG was inside, so I ventured back into the throng of screaming kids that was the outside. Fighting back tears and beer farts, I looked for the put-put train tracks. I realized that laying my neck across the track and then having the train run over me was probably not going to pop my head off. However, if the train happened to cross by four or five times before closing, perhaps it would serrate away my melancholy. Thats when I saw girls with loudly died hair, piercings, and SG name tags. Upon relection, of the three, I think it was the hair that was the big give-away.
So there I was all alone and with every care in the world. An island of solitude in a sea of Woodstock 94. I decided to find a place to have dinner. I would turn this desire into a mission of finding company. My big idea was to poke my head into every place serving alcohol to see if any SGers were living up to their (now realized phony-bologna) reputation as rummy fish. In one restaurant, I made every conceivable effort to explain to a lovely, but very foreign hostess that I did not want a table for one (again), but rather wanted to make a quick walk-through to see if my friends were in attendance. Luckily, a conscientious bus boy, a true Good Samaritan knowing bus boys grave reputations, happened to be walking by, overheard, and okayed my request. How a bus boy gets this type of authority Ill never know. He must have a big penis. Of course, no one I might accuseI mean guess, of being involved with SG was inside, so I ventured back into the throng of screaming kids that was the outside. Fighting back tears and beer farts, I looked for the put-put train tracks. I realized that laying my neck across the track and then having the train run over me was probably not going to pop my head off. However, if the train happened to cross by four or five times before closing, perhaps it would serrate away my melancholy. Thats when I saw girls with loudly died hair, piercings, and SG name tags. Upon relection, of the three, I think it was the hair that was the big give-away.
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hmm....