Atlantic City Vacation

Day 2 4/12/06

Today was a good day. We visited the Renault Winery this morning.
There was a little difficulty in getting there as it was in the middle
of fucking nowhere, but we eventually arrived at our destination. Upon
getting there, we were met with several tour buses unloading a flock of
geriatrics. The air smelled like death. I hate old people. They
walk slow, they smell terrible, and they really aren’t very good
conversationalists. So bypassing the herd of aging flesh, we entered
the facility in hopes of getting a tour. We walked in, and to our
immediate right, there was a huge dining hall absolutely brimming
with seniors. They were all seated, eating whatever fucking paste their
stomachs could handle without massive diarrhea spontaneously expelling.
And the kicker? Every single tour guide was in the room with the
seniors. There were no fucking tour guides! It was incredible! I’ve
never actually been witness to a tour that was sans tour guides! I
think we stood around for 45 minutes to an hour, with our thumbs jammed
firmly up our asses. FINALLY, some bitch tells us, “We normally charge
$3 per person for the tour, but since you waited, you don’t have to
pay.”
…I contemplated stabbing her in the face.

And so the tour was off! We were treated to a speech on the history
of Renault Winery and the bottling process and assorted shit. One of
the choice quotes I remember was, “Another cleaning method for the
wine barrels involves putting a sulfur candle in the barrel. This in
turn produces carbon dioxide, or laughing gas.” Now I was surely
convinced that this woman was a certified chemist. After all, laughing
gas is an informal slang for nitrous oxide, which isn’t even a
byproduct of burning sulfur. I let her know this much as well. I’m not
sure she understood the sounds coming out of my mouth entirely as her
ears may have been too fat to let the sound in. To conclude the tour,
we were treated to a wine tasting. Now, this tasting almost went
fucking horrible. Almost. The plump guide informed me that it was
against the law to give alcohol to those under 21. My father suggested
that he would share his samplings with me if she “turned her back”. I
thought that such a feat would require several weeks and assistance
from an assortment of heavy machinery, but she “turned her back” quite
skillfully throughout the samplings. Among the samples, we had red and
white wine. There weren’t many that tasted that special, honestly. Save
for the last one. It was a cream sherry, a wine fortified with brandy,
to elevate its alcohol content to about 15%. I thought it was a
fantastic wine. It had an oak taste to it that was exquisite. Damn
shame we didn’t purchase a bottle.

After the tour was over, we walked around outside for a bit and came
to this golf course. I saw golf carts and only one thought went through
my mind: I GOTTA RIDE THESE FUCKING THINGS. Well, after some carefully maneuvered bullshitting, I managed
to convince the kindly elderly gentleman that I was a guest of the
adjacent hotel, and that I wanted to ride the golf cart to see what the
course had to offer. The gentleman gladly complied and supplied me with
a golf cart. Golf carts kick fucking ass. They’re so much fun. I even
drove my parents around for a bit. I gotta go to a golf course again
sometime.

So I dropped off the golf cart, and we decided to shove off and find
a place to eat. We got back on the main highway and nearing our hotel,
stopped off at a neighboring restaurant called JoJo’s. JoJo’s had divine
buffalo wings. They were simply marvelous. Of a plate of 12, ordered
for myself, mother, and father, my mother consumed 2 and my father 3.
In my ravenous hunger, I swallowed the rest. And for the main course I
had a buffalo chicken sandwich. I think that if the food has “buffalo”
somewhere in it, I’ll eat it. The sandwich was scrumptious; a buffalo
chicken cutlet on a Kaiser roll, smothered in bleu cheese. With the
flesh of buffalo in my stomach cavity, I left a happy man and drove us
home for a nap.

I was awoken at 7. That night, we took in Beatlemania Now! at the
Harrah Casino. They were a cover band that frankly didn’t do that bad
of a job. They played a lot of the Beatles’ early stuff, songs like
“She Loves You” and “All You Need is Love”. The end was rather
anticlimactic, as I was expecting at least ONE song from Abbey Road,
but they hardly ended with a bang. Oh well. It was still a pretty good
time.

I was dressed pretty fucking snazzy tonight, I think. Behold:

BAM! Jacket.
BAM! Shoes.
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5 responses to “Atlantic City Vacation

  1. Haha, I read your first post as well. Your journeys interest me so…and always include alcohol. Bless you. And I want to rent a damn golf cart myself. Was it as much fun as I imagine?  Oh and nice pimp suit by the way…quite snazzy indeed.

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