Walking into the ocean during a rip tide is a brilliant combination of paralyzing and humiliating. When I say rip tide, I mean rip tides, plural. They work in teams of two, three or six, all depending on how long it takes you to regain your basic motor function, stand up and crawl away. Riptides are comedians putting on a show for every single douchebag in the sandy audience, chuckling with their friends over amstel lights and taking bets on how many cracks of the whip the big bad water is going to pile through until you can awkwardly doggie paddle it back to shore.
“Oh you will never see these people again. So who cares what you look like?” Lies we tell ourselves to overcome our fear of being fat in a bathing suit. Yeah, fear of being fat in a bathing suit, and getting our shit rocked by water.
One wave hits you, knocks your feet out from under you and then his younger sister comes and bitch slaps you across the face while you gobble up water like a turkey just weeks before Thanksgiving. You catch your breath, get to your knees thinking you are ok then BANG BANG you’re dead again when rip tide senior barely touches the back of your knees causing them to buckle in. Mrs. rip tide gives you a noogie just hard enough to leave you gasping, praying for a rescue.
When grandma rip tide rolls in, you crawl to your safety on shore with a battered ego and cynical outlook on life.
Don't even get me started on Alligators, Jelly Fish, Sharks, Electric Eels.
Here are my top 5 places I recommend visiting if you hate the beach.
Now who would like to house me when I come visit each of these cities instead of going to the beach?
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