2005-09-23 - 3:39 p.m.
My friend Matt is afraid to fly.
Actually he’s afraid of a lot of things. Flying is just the latest phobia d’jour.
Matt is also afraid of : Bees, guns, trees, blood, fish (both of the swimming and yummy restaurant variety), kangaroos, lemons, doctors, cell phones, sharks, school children, spiders, clowns, Microsoft Excel, crowds, republicans, Taco Bell and boobies.
How he has survived to the ripe old age of 43 is a mystery to me and a triumphant inspiration to hypochondriacs everywhere.
Yay Matt. Go Matt.
Matt does enjoy pounding down a few drinks. He is not afraid of alcohol, so naturally he and I are good buddies.
Matt is not afraid of picking up the tab and paying for the round.
Yay Matt. Go Matt.
Anyhow, our little circle of friends (Criteria to be in our circle of friends = Have no children, and enjoy drinking) have decided to go on vacation to Costa Rica this winter, which to me sounds like an absolutely fucking fantastic idea.
Overall, I’m pretty flexible on vacation destinations just as long I can be warm and drunk I am usually a very happy camper. Hey, include boobies and I just might not ever come home.
It’s been explained to me that Costa Rica is indeed warm and serves alcohol. There is a good chance that there may be boobies in Costa Rica, so I’m pretty much sold on this whole thing. Yay !Costa Rica.
Anyhow, we’d love for our dear old friend Matt to join us, but alas, it’s a pretty fucking far drive from Boston to Costa Rica and we’ve got the crazy idea stuck in our heads of taking a plane to Costa Rica.
Cause, even though our sobriety can be questioned, we’re not fucking stupid.
Matt, bless his little dysfunctional brain, has tried to talk us out of a vacation that requires us to travel by air and one that stays relatively close to the ground. Namely: Pennsylvania
For some reason, Matt has an overwhelming desire to see steel mills. I think he might be gay.
Matt has tried to bribe me with the promise of free liquor, and claims that there may be boobies in Pennsylvania, but I aint risking it. The son of a bitch could be lying.
Plus we already booked the tickets to Costa Rica.
Sorry Matt.
We’ve played with the idea of drugging Matt and then putting him on the plane (A-la Mr. T and the A-Team for you over 35 crowd). But Matt is afraid of medications, and I think there might be some FAA restrictions of bringing a comatose passenger on an international flight. Go figure. The Terrorist have won.
Plus, we came to the realization that even if we could somehow get him to Central America, it would only open up an entirely new world of fears and phobias to him. He would probably snap and would kill us all in our sleep if it wasn’t for his disabling fear of blood.
So, we’re off to Southern latitudes this winter for a week, while our good friend Matt will be here at home studying tour books of Pennsylvania and masturbating about Steel Mills.
Maybe I’ll send him a postcard of a giant spider.
Have a great weekend.
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