First of all, let's start with
the plane ride. For most of us we have to "do" it.
There's no "don't" involved. But as I learned the hard
way, 12 hours in a cramped coach seat is not good. Therefore,
the only "do" I can recommend for the flight to the
volcano state is to travel in first class. You get 12 hours (from
the East coast) of pampering. Free booze, unlimited peanuts and
pretzels, big comfy chairs and the headphones are on the house.
Also bring a book. Actually, make it two. Howard Stern's Private
Part Parts and Howard Stern's Miss America saved my
ass from boredom and shut the old bitty next to me the hell up.
Occasionally she'd turn to me and start up a one way conversation
about how her hemorrhoids were actually caused by spider bites
and how she liked to eat pudding in the bath tub, but then I
would start quoting some of Howie's passages and his immortal
thoughts on lesbians and strippers and she'd hiss like a vampire
exposed to a cross and pull her blanket over her head to save
her from the evil of Stern. That could have been a messy flight
if I was forced to kill her with her own knitting needles.
Once you make it to the island, the next "do" is
to have a buddy pick you up at the airport. Yes, Oahu is a pretty
small island (44 miles long and 30 miles wide), but it's easy
to get lost and or confused on your own... and cabbies tend to
take you around the whole damn island and charge you $5,000 (not
including tip) to get you to your hotel, which is located at
most 5 miles from the airport. Luckily I had the MegaPlayboy
to pick me up. He had actually arrived a few days before me for
some of that tropical freaky-freaky action, and he had gotten
to know the lei of the land rather well. Therefore I was able
to take the time and ogle the beautiful and gorgeous and fuckable
womens the entire ride to Waikiki and our hotel (by the way,
scoping out the luscious island women is another "do"
I'll get to soon enough).
you can see me doing my best "David Hasselhoff" Bay
Watch impression. Honestly though, no David Hasselhoff impression
is a good one, which would make this item a "don't".
Funny story: It was at dusk when I posed for this shot and the
lifeguard on duty was passed out in the sand in front of his
post due to the high amounts of "Baby's Luvin" that
I shared with him in exchange for tips on how to feel up women
in the surf undetected. Anyway, somebody started drowning or
was being attacked by a Snork or something around 20 yards out.
That gave me the great idea to pretend that I was keeping an
eye out for trouble like I was Notch Johnson and this was my
beach. So after about 15 minutes of setting up the shot and getting
the pose perfect I noticed that the asshole out in the water
was nowhere to be found and I lost my motivation. We just took
the picture and left feeling a bit insulted.
MegaPlayboy here. I just wanted to make sure that I got the word
out on the biggest "Don't" that there is on that there
isle in the blue. Don't, I repeat, DO NOT try to look all smooth
and stylin' with any of that retarded gangsta rap, especially
if you're an islander native. Trust me, my bitches, you don't
look fly and high. You mostly look stye and Sly (as in Sly Stallone...
and not in his Rocky days but in his Copland physique).
All those homie wannabees are drivin'
around in those semi-pimped out and totally sad Civics and Volkswagons
as if they were the biggest, baddest, and stinkiest shit in the
toilet when they couldn't even scare the black off of rice. They
be trolling down Kuhio Avenue lookin' for all that fine Polynesian
ass thinkin' that they Magnum fuckin' P.I. in his Ferrari when
they really look like Don Knotts in that Herbie Goes
Bananas movie. Then they got all that "Death to Whitey"
musak blastin' outta their totally un-posh stereos as they bob
their heads up and down like a broken chihuahua dashboard toy.
I had to kill at least 12 of those freaky island pussies and
steal their ladies all for my lonesome. That was one helluva
exotic gang bang that night. Barely every girlie even made it
onto the bed!!