Even My Ski Rack is Letting Go

...ya, wasn't ready for that one. Picture the scenario. Lawyer, nurse and engineer are blasting out into the flats after the lost trail pass. 3 digit speeds. Start to pass a Suburban and the guy rolls down the window and starts to give me the "slow down you asshole" hand gesture.
Turns out it is the "your rack is messed up you asshole" hand gesture. Turns out he was right.I jump out of the car, take a pic and proceed to adjust the tangled web of skis and poles. It wasn't but 5 seconds of adjusting that bitch when the Yakima decides to pull an Okami and punch me in the fucking nose. DAMN. Eyes watering up. Nose starting to bleed. Hold it together Thullbery. Don't look like a bitch. You are already parked on the wrong side of the highway...and we are back to situation normal.

Aside from that, last weekend was dynamite. Had everything I need: Lawyers, skiing, booze, smokes, male nurses and the most important thing of all, high school cheerleaders.

I don't get why so many people don't like young girls. They are a damn riot. They act drunk without a drop of alcohol. They are incredibly sexy, which also means "not fat yet". And further more, these girls were willing to play video games and do some cheers for us with our names in them. Some people pay good money to get that exact type of treatment at the Bunny Ranch. And when they do it is usually overpriced (anything over $3) and played out by some 28yr old girls that look like they were born with cigarettes in their mouths and veins full of base.
The ONLY part of me that wasn't entirely down with this scene playing out in my room was the space in my memory reserved for shitty late night television. Mainly, Dateline's "To Catch a Preditor". That fucking show, along with a fine South Park episode was messin with me. And every time they would have to go charging back into their room because "their coach was at the door", my mind would play out the following:

(tall man enters room in a sport coat with a turtle-neck underneath)
Kevin: Can I help you?
Man: Why don't you just have a seat over there.
Kevin: Why are you in my roo...
Man: Just have a seat over there.
Kevin: I'm calling the front des...
Man: Just have a seat.
(Kevin walks backwards to the chair and sits down)
Kevin: Damn you're good! Who are you?
Man: I'm Chris Hanson with Datel...
Kevin: Oh God! IT'S CHRIS HANSON!!!
(Kevin pulls a pistol from out of nowhere and commits suicide. End)

Long story short...they flirted with us, we flirted back, we played guitar hero, we played some doubles real guitar, our testosterone pumps ran at 99.8% capacity (remaining .2% is reserved for the same scenario plus some visible nipples and a quart of KY warming sensations) and we all went to bed once I got my third noise complaint at the Bitterroot Inn (2 is the max allowable). Luckily I was blessed with an angelic demeanor and there is no way the desk girls would kick me out and leave themselves un-hit-on-by-me.