Ever since the chlamydia-to-water ratio in Ocean City, Maryland exceeded 50%, I’ve been looking for a new place to pretend to watch my kids play in the shark-infested sea while I day-drink myself into sunburned oblivion.
We tried out Nags Head last year, and while the place was peaceful, nothing was in easy walking distance, and it was a huge pain in the ass to have to drive everywhere. The fact that I accidentally set a grass-covered sand dune on fire with illegal fireworks has also made me leery of returning in case there’s a warrant out for my arrest.
For years I’ve avoided Virginia Beach because its most well-known landmark is a goddamned giant pile of garbage they’ve lovingly nicknamed Mt. Trashmore. The city’s unofficial motto of “We’re the place where the ghetto meets the sea” also leaves a lot to be desired. But, we decided to give the place a try this year, and while it’s a bit of an over-priced dump; it did have some redeeming qualities.
For one, they fly in hundreds of eastern Europeans to work for the summers in the bars and restaurants, and while the guys are sullen pricks, the women are phenomenal, and you can literally bounce a quarter off their asses.
And for the first time in the history of the Internet, I used literally correctly. I bounced a quarter off my waitress, Ludmilla’s, ass as she walked away, and if my uptight wife hadn’t smacked me so hard it knocked a contact lens out, it would have been one of my top five proudest accomplishments.
But, far and away the best thing about Virginia Beach is that it’s a BBW-lovers wet dream. While women in places like Ocean City, the Shore or Myrtle Beach might try to actually work out or diet before squeezing into a two-piece, the fine ladies at Va Beach had no such hang-ups.
It’s almost like there’s some magical shame-defying power in the lower Bay, and thanks to my cell phone camera, I have enough memories to last for months or until I forget my phone is in my pocket and wash it again.