As The Rev. Jenner J. Hull was in the shower (because even the Truly Funky can still get funky) a thought occurred to him. We at the Church are a fun-loving bunch of Funky Monkeys, no doubt, but we're far from the mild-mannered, hippie-esque, "live and let live" types we may seem to be. It ain't all fluffy bunnies, unicorns, and Yoo-Hoo fountains over here, y'all.
Oh, yeah, we hate. We loathe. We see and hear things that make us want to go on periodic rampages, and not the fun kind of rampages, the ones that involve bars, late night Jam Sessions, and, if it was a really special night, a stay in the County Inn. We're talking the kind of rampages that leave a city or two in ruins. If it isn't apparent, we just get annoyed really easily.
So, when some sort of insect burrows into the Reverend's nether-regions, he'll tell you why he would see fit to accuse that (hopefully, metaphorical) insect of the most heinous of blasphemies in the Church of the Everlasting Groove; being "Jive!"
I'm gonna be a complete prick now. Thanks.
Living in Myrtle Beach is like bearing witness to the very essence of human misery and pleasure, especially in the summer. People come from all over the US (and, oddly enough, other countries as well) for their vacation; they want to relax, play golf, go to the beach, eat some of the best seafood on the East Coast, go shopping at the outlet malls, etc. These people just want to have a good time, I understand that.
So, there's all these people here, trying to have a good time, and what do you get? Traffic snarls that test even the most jaded road warrior. Ridiculous wait times at every single restaurant in town during peak season, since 98% (completely made-up estimate) of tourists eat out for most of their vacation. Beaches that should be relaxing and serene are instead Hellscapes of scorching heat, screaming kids, and so many people it's hard to even find the goddamn sand.
But that's not my gripe, really. I knew what it was gonna be like before I came here and I accepted the hassle (while reserving the right to bitch about it) and it hasn't been so bad since October but, well, here's the point.
If you're gonna come down here for a week and drive around, buy a map! Figure out where the main drags are, have a vague idea of where you're going and how to get there, and, for the Funky Lord's sake, if you're about to miss a turn or an exit, don't go for it! Don't slam on brakes and whip a last second turn. Go down a ways, turn around, and come back. I can't count the times I've been cut-off, brake-checked, or nearly side-swiped by some jackass who'd rather risk my ride than get to Wings a full minute and a half later.
It only took me a week to learn the lay of the land when I moved here. You're not on the Lewis and Clark Expedition, people; at the very least, take about five minutes to check out Mapquest or something.
We won't even discuss Bike Week...