Omar Is An Asshole

OK... we've strung you along this far (and it's only fair)....

SO NOW, FOR THE BENEFIT OF ANYONE NOT FLYING A KITE ON THE BEACH....

The true story of Omar, and why he is an asshole....

Shortly after the wedding (you know where the page is, go to it... c'mon, it's not that difficult to navigate the Web anymore...), we were hanging on Hermosa Beach, drinking a little champagne (woohoo for mimosas), chugging a lot of Jack (woohoo for Tennessee), when this awfully good-looking dude came strolling along and said:

"Where's y'alls folks from?"

It was quickly decided that all the "y'alls" in question had something to do with the great Lone Star State (that would be Texas and not Mexico)... and in short time our new friend (Brandon of Abilene, or, quite possibly, Amarillo) had invited us to a Memorial Day bar-b-que just down the road in Redondo Beach.

How could we turn down such an offer, especially when Andi's tongue was still scraping the sand four hours after Brandon had left?

And so, after many a rum punch that following morning (that would be Sunday if you're following this grotesque roman a clef), the gang (minus that Dodger-loving twat Gary) called one of El Lay's finest (a fat immigrant taxi driver who made possibly a little more sense than Latka Gravas), and we proceeded en masse to Esplanade Boulevard in Redondo Beach.... (By the way, we actually made it there, but only by the good graces of Ganesha, one of those scary-ass Indian elephant gods with big cocks.)

Any-fuckin-who... we was once again treated like the "filthy foreign vermin" that we are... and we enjoyed our new-found-friend's beers and booze and food for longer than they or we care to remember.

Hey! Aren't you gonna explain this whole 'Omar is an Asshole' thang?

If you're still reading, I will....

See, we hung out with all these groovy people, yet, when it came time to haul our pathetic southwestern asses out of there, some of us freaks still needed to bleed the vein that would not wait till Hermosa (and the vein that most taxi drivers do not want to see spraying their cars).... So... we immediately cozied up to the owner of the apartment closest to the beach (that's right: three rooms looking out over Esplanade, less than 20 yards to the sand) and we pee'd like we wouldn't be able to pee for at least another two or three minutes...

Said owner, as if you don't already know, was Omar...

And our Web site is dedicated to him....