Once again Memorial Day pulled into town and puked up her tangled horde of Tourons all over our beach and into our lives.
Welcome back. We hardly missed ya.
I know I’m a dick and I rag on Tourons constantly but, honestly, it’s not without justification. I try to be laid back and love everyone and say everything’s cool but Tourons mercilessly bent on their very bestest vacation ever can generally become the biggest assholes you’ve ever seen. Believe me.
‘Course then again, they can also be endlessly entertaining. Souped up Tourons do some of the funniest shit you’ve ever seen. So maybe it evens out.
I’m convinced it’s Mother Ocean what does it- like the lunar pull on the tides, she tugs at the saltwater coursing through our veins, loosening inhibitions and fueling the craziness. To locals used to her siren song it feels like a soft beer buzz but to Tourons it’s like mainlining heroin. No wonder they’re like puppies excitedly peeing on the carpet- they just can’t help themselves.
Whatever. Once again the 100 days war begins. Another Touron Season is spinning and we’re locked into the ride.
Don’t get me wrong, I love summer. It’s what Miss Carol and me live for. It’s the reason we live at the beach and will probably never leave- Tourons are just a part of our daily lives.
Like sand fleas and sunburn.