Sinkhole de Mayo

Jacksonville's three Mexican joints are sure to be packed for tomorrow's Cinco de Mayo festivities tomorrow night. Insipid all-Americana joints like Applebee's and Texas Roadhouse will try to fill the void by hawking their fajita platters and exotic Margarita-esque concoctions (Strawberry-Jalapeno Margarita!! Prickly Pear-Pomegranate Margarita Jello shots!!!!)

But there is a glimmer of hope on the horizon from Jacksonville's unofficial (yet much more proactive and creative) Chamber of Commerce...




You just know that legions of young men will come armed with bags of tortilla chips, preparing to scoop guac out of a stripper's ass crack.


Oh, Driftwood... you never cease to amaze me. You always take it to the lowest common demoninator but at least you always manage to give it the old college try.

Overheard At My Easter Dinner

My friend "Jenna" had us all rolling with this statement: "I love people from Jacksonville. They can say things like 'Poor Molly Sue. She is butt ass ugly and sleeps with anything with a pulse. Bless her heart.' Talk all the trash you want to... just throw in a 'Bless her/his heart' at the end and you are golden."

Hmmmm.... I am going to give this a try.

I saw a group of women on Camp Lejeune power walking with strollers today. Too bad they were stuffing their faces with ice cream so their snail's pace version of exercise was totally negated. Bless their hearts.

The manager at my gym gave up the juice a few years ago so his body mass has turned to fluff. That faux-hawk he is rocking at the age of forty something doesn't help either. Bless his heart.

That Wal-Mart cashier that checked me out last week has the IQ of a gnat and probably lives in a trailer park in Southwest. Bless her heart.

Erin Go Bragh(less) in Jax

Tomorrow is Saint Patrick's Day. Since Emerald Isle and Wilmington already had their parades this weekend and the Jacksonville Chamber of Commerce has left its residents high and dry once again, most people will just end up hitting the bars and getting shitfaced while wearing green I'm Not Irish But Fuck Me Anyways t-shirts. Sensing this void, Jacksonville's premiere gentleman's club, The Driftwood, is offering up one of its most creative events to date.

If  creative = tacky + ridiculous

I must give credit where credit is due. The Driftwood (affectionately referred to as the Dirtwood) knows its clientele all too well. It is a grubby little hole in the wall on Hwy 24, just outside the main gate of Camp Lejeune and one short Tarheel Taxi ride away from the barracks. In a town where the men vastly outnumber the women, sex sells. If a guy can't get laid, looking at the boobs of an 18 year old girl who followed her Marine from Iowa only to get cast aside... well... that's almost as good as getting laid. Looks like tomorrow's festivities go a step further by catering to Jacksonville's love of all things UFC. In the few waking moments that Jacksonville's male population aged 18-29 isn't thinking about sex, it is entertaining homoerotic fantasies of pummeling another man in the octagon. Way to keep the bar raised high, Dirtwood!

I went to the Dirtwood once many eons ago. A group of us were sitting at a table just to the left of the main stage, running through buckets of beer. A young girl whose retainer gleamed when the strobe light display hit it just right was performing acrobatics on the pole. I noticed a slight swelling of her abdomen. "No way", I thought to myself, "maybe she just has a beer gut". I leaned over to my friend Laura, who came along for this excursion for her husband's birthday that we were celebrating. "Psssst...is she....?", I whispered. "Oh yeah. I am guessing about 5 or 6 months along" was her bored response.

Jesus! Not interested in seeing an on-stage miscarriage from the teenager still precariously twirling from the pole, I polished off my beer and hit the door, never to return again.

Guess who won't be at the Dirtwood tomorrow?