Tuesday, April 22, 2008
(Road) trippin' balls: Omaha part 2
Warning: this post contains a couple of mildly NSFW images of artistic and/or cartoonish boobs. So save your muffiny rub-off until you get home, butternut.
After Ang cleaned herself up from Friday night's shenanigans, we headed out on Saturday to explore some thrift and antique stores. As you can tell from my many past posts involving thrift stores, you already know that I live for this shit. The first store was more antique than thrift, but at least we got to enjoy the Donkey Party.
The basement of the store was mostly clothing. I quickly browsed the small selection of men's clothing, checked out the weird mannequins, and came across these groovy lamps. They look like 60's outer outer space-themed comic book characters. Max and I had enough of watching the ladies try on clothes (they kept doing it in the dressing room, and it was hard to see through the slats in the door), so we walked to a book store across the street.
Once the girls were done, we headed over to another store where I found this horrific Rosie O'Donnell doll, or "Rosie O'Doll." To make it worse, it talks. Even worse than that, the real Rosie O'Donnell talks, too.
Why, oh why did we not buy this velvet boobie painting?
High Steppin' and Fancy Dancin'.
We live in a colorful world.
After wandering the massive store by myself, I bumped into Ang. As I followed her into a corner room, I looked up and spied this masterpiece.
"Go forth and do the bidding of thy master, the dark lord Satan. Also, check out the bottom part of my juvenile vagina courtesy this sickeningly and inappropriately short skirt."
Sign: "Don't touch me!! I'm not THAT kind of girl! 'NO!' means 'NO!'"
Jeremy: "Surreptitious boob touch! Tune in Tokyo!"
This mannequin recoiled in fear when I waved my fist at it in a threatening manner. "You hear me, woman?"
Before we went out for dinner and drinks, we made a pit stop at Nobbie's, a party supply, costume, and novelty store of mammoth proportions. It was there that I lived out my fantasy of having 6 boobs on my head at once. I tried some sweet talking on the ride into town, but Ang, Lesley, and Coco shut me down. Strangely enough Max was ok with it though. I politely declined his offer.
C'mon, Ang, fart! Let's light this place up Statue of Liberty style!
Space man Max.
"This store is monitored 24 hours a day by a gay cowboy."
I tried to talk Max into giving his hat to the gay cowboy, but he was not pleased with this suggestion.
"Teach your child the joys of killing while their minds are still malleable."
The image of a child holding a machine gun disturbs me far, far less than the creepy look on this kid's face. I half expect him to pop out of my linen closet and ask for a hug. No, you may not have a hug, you pumpkin-headed little freak.
"On your mark! Get Wet! Throw!" for the vibrating shark.
After our boobalicious escapades, we headed over to The Homey Inn, the first and only bar I've ever been to that serves champagne on tap. You can get sweet champagne or dry. I preferred the dry. By the way, don't let me forget that I still owe Max three fins for our dinner that night. He might get pissed and burn my shoulders with his jet pack.
The bubbles tickled my penis. Ang did not. Something about not wanting to do it in front of three other people. Oh, please!
After dinner, we headed over to The Lynx Lounge, an establishment that is usually patronized primarily by African American customers, but they're welcoming to everyone who comes in the door, including people like me who are so white that you can see their heart beating through their chest when they are shirtless.
At the Lynx, I got hammered and yelled at Ang for puking in the bed and for not cutting the crusts off of my sandwich a couple of months ago.
There was a lot of photo snapping going on under the table. Someone (I swear, not me) snapped this keeper of Coco's legs.
Oh, look! Is that Max snapping photos under the table? Hmmmmm...
Ok, now you've crossed the line, bub. One more and...
Hey! I told you to stop taking pictures of my girlfriend's goods! Hold on for just a sec, would you? *honk honk* Anyway, like I was saying, you've got some nerve, buddy boy!
That evening, we met up with some of Max and Coco's old Omaha friends. Ang was a bit worse for the wear from her drinking the previous night, so she and I cut out early and were in bed by 1 am. Everyone else stumbled back to the hotel around 3.
With sadness and fondness, we left dear Omaha early Sunday afternoon and headed home with me behind the wheel the whole way. In the car, we expressed our hopes that we would find wipes for Scottish babies when we stopped for gas. Wouldn't you know, we were in luck! "Ay, I be pinchin' a penny out o' this frame, don'tcha know. Gimme a minute, and I be pinchin' a loaf."
Coming next: Robot penises, Jeremy's road journal, and creepy mannequins
After Ang cleaned herself up from Friday night's shenanigans, we headed out on Saturday to explore some thrift and antique stores. As you can tell from my many past posts involving thrift stores, you already know that I live for this shit. The first store was more antique than thrift, but at least we got to enjoy the Donkey Party.
The basement of the store was mostly clothing. I quickly browsed the small selection of men's clothing, checked out the weird mannequins, and came across these groovy lamps. They look like 60's outer outer space-themed comic book characters. Max and I had enough of watching the ladies try on clothes (they kept doing it in the dressing room, and it was hard to see through the slats in the door), so we walked to a book store across the street.
Once the girls were done, we headed over to another store where I found this horrific Rosie O'Donnell doll, or "Rosie O'Doll." To make it worse, it talks. Even worse than that, the real Rosie O'Donnell talks, too.
Why, oh why did we not buy this velvet boobie painting?
High Steppin' and Fancy Dancin'.
We live in a colorful world.
After wandering the massive store by myself, I bumped into Ang. As I followed her into a corner room, I looked up and spied this masterpiece.
"Go forth and do the bidding of thy master, the dark lord Satan. Also, check out the bottom part of my juvenile vagina courtesy this sickeningly and inappropriately short skirt."
Sign: "Don't touch me!! I'm not THAT kind of girl! 'NO!' means 'NO!'"
Jeremy: "Surreptitious boob touch! Tune in Tokyo!"
This mannequin recoiled in fear when I waved my fist at it in a threatening manner. "You hear me, woman?"
Before we went out for dinner and drinks, we made a pit stop at Nobbie's, a party supply, costume, and novelty store of mammoth proportions. It was there that I lived out my fantasy of having 6 boobs on my head at once. I tried some sweet talking on the ride into town, but Ang, Lesley, and Coco shut me down. Strangely enough Max was ok with it though. I politely declined his offer.
C'mon, Ang, fart! Let's light this place up Statue of Liberty style!
Space man Max.
"This store is monitored 24 hours a day by a gay cowboy."
I tried to talk Max into giving his hat to the gay cowboy, but he was not pleased with this suggestion.
"Teach your child the joys of killing while their minds are still malleable."
The image of a child holding a machine gun disturbs me far, far less than the creepy look on this kid's face. I half expect him to pop out of my linen closet and ask for a hug. No, you may not have a hug, you pumpkin-headed little freak.
"On your mark! Get Wet! Throw!" for the vibrating shark.
After our boobalicious escapades, we headed over to The Homey Inn, the first and only bar I've ever been to that serves champagne on tap. You can get sweet champagne or dry. I preferred the dry. By the way, don't let me forget that I still owe Max three fins for our dinner that night. He might get pissed and burn my shoulders with his jet pack.
The bubbles tickled my penis. Ang did not. Something about not wanting to do it in front of three other people. Oh, please!
After dinner, we headed over to The Lynx Lounge, an establishment that is usually patronized primarily by African American customers, but they're welcoming to everyone who comes in the door, including people like me who are so white that you can see their heart beating through their chest when they are shirtless.
At the Lynx, I got hammered and yelled at Ang for puking in the bed and for not cutting the crusts off of my sandwich a couple of months ago.
There was a lot of photo snapping going on under the table. Someone (I swear, not me) snapped this keeper of Coco's legs.
Oh, look! Is that Max snapping photos under the table? Hmmmmm...
Ok, now you've crossed the line, bub. One more and...
Hey! I told you to stop taking pictures of my girlfriend's goods! Hold on for just a sec, would you? *honk honk* Anyway, like I was saying, you've got some nerve, buddy boy!
That evening, we met up with some of Max and Coco's old Omaha friends. Ang was a bit worse for the wear from her drinking the previous night, so she and I cut out early and were in bed by 1 am. Everyone else stumbled back to the hotel around 3.
With sadness and fondness, we left dear Omaha early Sunday afternoon and headed home with me behind the wheel the whole way. In the car, we expressed our hopes that we would find wipes for Scottish babies when we stopped for gas. Wouldn't you know, we were in luck! "Ay, I be pinchin' a penny out o' this frame, don'tcha know. Gimme a minute, and I be pinchin' a loaf."
Coming next: Robot penises, Jeremy's road journal, and creepy mannequins
We have to go back for the velvet painting. What were we thinking for not leaving with it?
I have no idea, Coco, but I feel terrible about leaving Omaha without that velvet goddess. Next time we go we need to see if it's still there. If it is, we get it, no excuses!
I jerked off onto the painting when you two left the room. Does that count?
It counts if you still have velvet on your cock.
Always.