Most men fear whiskey dick like it’s the Grim Reaper himself. Death can come and go as it pleases as long as everything works down below. Viagra users are the modern day male lepers. If discovered, they are cast out and dismissed. But I don’t have that problem. That’s a lie. It’s happened a few times, but that’s normal despite what they say. But what happened last night is much worse than the dreaded whiskey dick. To make matters slightly worse, the cruise ship is now sinking.
A cruise is not my idea of a good time. My family decided it would be a great idea for me to take time off and go on a long, relaxing cruise. Too bad I get seasick and can’t even drink my beloved Irish whiskey without passing out. The pills and alcohol make for a wild five to ten minutes before losing consciousness. I had just been laid off and my girlfriend dumped my jobless ass. The cruise was supposed to take my mind off everything and allow me to come back renewed, like a vampire after a good day’s rest.
My friends urged me to get laid, but cruises are unsurprisingly filled with couples. And not just any couples, incredibly attractive couples straight out of Playboy/Playgirl. I could only imagine the amount of sex that was happening without me. What a terribly depressing cruise. No booze and no sex.
After a week I accepted that maybe odious amounts of alcohol would cure my seasickness. It sort of worked. Instead of seasickness, it was just booze-sickness. The cruise bartender and I became quite close, but I can’t recall his name. During my last overnight drunk, I found a beautiful woman who did not appear to have an escort. She stood alone. I put on my charming face, grabbed two mojitos from my nameless friend, and attempted walking towards her. Five whiskeys go a long way.
She had an average build, straight and long brown hair, and dressed like a hippie. Her tank top had a pot leaf on it and her skirt a faded brown. She also sported some rad looking moccasins.
“You know I’m 1/64 Native American?”
She barely looked at me. The booze made me continue.
“Yeah, I’m part Ojibwa. Hunter/gatherers. No big deal.”
“So I have a mojito for you,” I said pronouncing the hard J.
“Listen,” she said, “I’ll give you half an hour. If you impress me, we’ll see.” Her expression was incredibly stoic.
I took a swig of the mojito in my right hand. It tasted delicious. It was so delicious that I threw up all over her pro-pot top.
My bartender carried me to my room, away from my screaming hippie. I puked the down the entire hallway, leaving a trail.
It is now the next day and I have awakened to the sound of an alarm. The ship is f-ing sinking. Why couldn’t I just get whiskey dick. Worst cruise ever.