The Beach Story Revisited
The whole Kim Kardashian nude photos story has people talking. Is she disgusting? Is she without talent? Is the photo real?
Well, let me tell you. I have a story about what these 'stars' look like up close.
My beautiful wife never really goes with me to book signings or talks or events.
She went to the first couple and laughed when I spoke, but then the jokes got old to her. So I was on my own.
"I've heard your shit," she said.
Except for two events.
The first was an event where the former Buffalo Sabres gathered. We spent a large part of that evening talking to Pat LaFontaine, Gilbert Perrault, Jim Lorentz and Craig Ramsey.
Kathy has photos with each and she wore Rammer's Stanley Cup ring for about half the evening.
"What if she steals it?" I asked Ramsey as we drank at the bar.
"I'll just beat the hell out of you," he answered.
The second event was a book launch party in Miami for House of Miracles.
"We're going!" she announced.
So, Kathy got to work on picking the hotel. We flew down for the event, but had some time to head to the beach first.
"Oh my God!" I yelled, pointing.
The women were walking by without shirts.
A topless beach.
Boys from little old North Collins, trained at the ping-pong paddled hands of nuns, with altar boy on the lengthy resume, wasn't ready to see such a thing!
"Get over it," my wife said.
We went to the party.
It was a lavish event that ended with us on the roof of the penthouse over-looking Miami. We were hob-knobbing with a crew from Publisher's Weekly, other authors and a couple of movie producers.
Great food.
Too much booze.
The next morning we were back on the beach. We didn't have a single thing to do all day except lie in the sun. It was 90 degrees. Our chairs were positioned near the pool, with the ocean just too far away to walk to.
I headed to the pool to cool off and as I turned a corner, hardly even looking at the shirtless ladies before me, I was brought to a sudden halt by the sight of two women on their beach chairs.
I try and describe these two ladies, but I never do them justice. They were topless, to be sure, but they were on their stomachs. They were oiled up. They were bronze.
Oh Dear Lord! I thought.
I dunked myself in the pool and followed the same path to our chairs.
"You have to see those two girls over there," I said to my wife upon return. "They made me scared to be a man."
She laughed.
Ten minutes later she was back from her walk to the pool.
"Those girls are stunning," she said.
I made the trip to the pool a few more times before I settled in for a nap.
(Napping in the Florida sun, without sun screen, was a highly stupid move, by the way).
When I woke up Kathy was sitting on her chair eating a sandwich.
"You didn't get me anything?" I asked. "Nope. And you also missed a bikini contest. There were about 20 girls from a faraway land. They were beautiful."
"You didn't wake me up to look at hot chicks?"
I was near tears when Kathy shouted out:
"Look!"
The two woman...who were on those chairs...who had scared me with their mere presence...stood to leave...and one was...without mistake...Pam Anderson.
She strolled out the gate of the place and we thought about chasing her down...but didn't.
"I was inches from her near-naked body!" I said.
"Big deal," Kathy said.
"Well I know why she's a millionaire."
Kathy was still unimpressed.
"It would've been nice to meet her," I said.
Another shrug.
"I'll tell you one thing," I said. "It's all right here." I pointed to my right temple. "I can conjure up that image anytime I want to."
"You're an idiot."
Maybe so.
Well, let me tell you. I have a story about what these 'stars' look like up close.
My beautiful wife never really goes with me to book signings or talks or events.
She went to the first couple and laughed when I spoke, but then the jokes got old to her. So I was on my own.
"I've heard your shit," she said.
Except for two events.
The first was an event where the former Buffalo Sabres gathered. We spent a large part of that evening talking to Pat LaFontaine, Gilbert Perrault, Jim Lorentz and Craig Ramsey.
Kathy has photos with each and she wore Rammer's Stanley Cup ring for about half the evening.
"What if she steals it?" I asked Ramsey as we drank at the bar.
"I'll just beat the hell out of you," he answered.
The second event was a book launch party in Miami for House of Miracles.
"We're going!" she announced.
So, Kathy got to work on picking the hotel. We flew down for the event, but had some time to head to the beach first.
"Oh my God!" I yelled, pointing.
The women were walking by without shirts.
A topless beach.
Boys from little old North Collins, trained at the ping-pong paddled hands of nuns, with altar boy on the lengthy resume, wasn't ready to see such a thing!
"Get over it," my wife said.
We went to the party.
It was a lavish event that ended with us on the roof of the penthouse over-looking Miami. We were hob-knobbing with a crew from Publisher's Weekly, other authors and a couple of movie producers.
Great food.
Too much booze.
The next morning we were back on the beach. We didn't have a single thing to do all day except lie in the sun. It was 90 degrees. Our chairs were positioned near the pool, with the ocean just too far away to walk to.
I headed to the pool to cool off and as I turned a corner, hardly even looking at the shirtless ladies before me, I was brought to a sudden halt by the sight of two women on their beach chairs.
I try and describe these two ladies, but I never do them justice. They were topless, to be sure, but they were on their stomachs. They were oiled up. They were bronze.
Oh Dear Lord! I thought.
I dunked myself in the pool and followed the same path to our chairs.
"You have to see those two girls over there," I said to my wife upon return. "They made me scared to be a man."
She laughed.
Ten minutes later she was back from her walk to the pool.
"Those girls are stunning," she said.
I made the trip to the pool a few more times before I settled in for a nap.
(Napping in the Florida sun, without sun screen, was a highly stupid move, by the way).
When I woke up Kathy was sitting on her chair eating a sandwich.
"You didn't get me anything?" I asked. "Nope. And you also missed a bikini contest. There were about 20 girls from a faraway land. They were beautiful."
"You didn't wake me up to look at hot chicks?"
I was near tears when Kathy shouted out:
"Look!"
The two woman...who were on those chairs...who had scared me with their mere presence...stood to leave...and one was...without mistake...Pam Anderson.
She strolled out the gate of the place and we thought about chasing her down...but didn't.
"I was inches from her near-naked body!" I said.
"Big deal," Kathy said.
"Well I know why she's a millionaire."
Kathy was still unimpressed.
"It would've been nice to meet her," I said.
Another shrug.
"I'll tell you one thing," I said. "It's all right here." I pointed to my right temple. "I can conjure up that image anytime I want to."
"You're an idiot."
Maybe so.
Comments