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Catalina Carousal III
Monterey Beach Hotel
April 29-May 1, 1988
"Be a good li'l Carouser and finish your drink."
|Moving Love Amoeba||Mmmm, Chowder||Attempted panty purchase|
|Howie sleeps||Howie, pre-crab||I see crabs in your future|
|Pete imitates Phil|
|"one time, i was on carousal w/
Randolph Mantooth, and at the close of bar time, we found
ourselves still thirsty and strangely, savagely hungry.
so we decided on an impromtu tour of the kitchen
facilities in a waterfront hotel. there was lots to eat
and the help were far too shocked and puzzled to offer
any interference so we ate till we simply could eat no
more and until the many vast refrigerators and pantries
ceased amazing us. we lounged a bit enjoying the view,
then we felt tired and bitter about not also finding beer
and decided to tackle the long cold windy walk up the
beach to our crab-infested hotel. it was a long walk and late night food makes me
sleepy, so i pulled up some ivy and rested peacefully
till i was awakened early by the gentle sounds of dawn
freeway traffic. sure it was odd and somewhat startling
to sit up suddenly digest exactly where i was and why.
but i was so well rested, and the place had been so good
to me, and the traffic seemed so right and so good that i
was immediately calmed and set off straight away towards
remind me, as well, to tell you sometime about the comfortable sleep one may find in the stockroom of the Red Onion in Mission Beach but which may cause you to miss your plane and have sex w/ strangers. (Carousal 7)"
- John M.
|"My first carousal has to be my
finest, most vivid memory. Monterey,1988, (I think), the
ocean, Ivy-covered roomates, Howie's ass swinging in the
air. Ah, but I digress.
I know but a few lads since arriving in California the previous year. Fresh from veterinary school, full of vitality & optimism, I all-too-readily accept an invitation to carouse from Scott H. Upon arriving at the event, I soon discover a common bond with these Left-Coasters. Dammit all, they love to drink, just as we used to on the Right Coast.
Soon after tipping cups, I discover an entirely new world: the game of Caps. Tossing this small coin great distances through a foggy haze into a cold beverage. Of course I lose badly, but hey! Who Cares? It means I get to drink more!
The next morning I awake to discover my new roomate John M. was into the great outdoors. Sleeping in a bed of ivy by the highway was the stuff of carousal legend. Of course, 27 beers had a little something to do with it too. But we soon bonded none-the-less. We regrouped later that evening at one of several bars. Despite our best efforts, we failed to even come close to snaring a little female companionship. We retired to our room, succumbing to our alcoholic stupor.
I still like to refer to it as a favorite dream. I leave names out to protect the identity of those involved, should they decide to run for political office (yeah, right!). Anyway, I awoke to here a carouser entering the room with an attractive female. Naturally, I pretended to be asleep and manuvered for the best view. After a few preliminaries, what do I see but a naked ( Howie's name deleted) carouser's butt in the air, going for glory. I was proud to be there, in the finest carouser tradition. If I was unable to contend, by God, another carouser was willing to step in and take command. A fine memory I cherish with every passing carousal! Long live the CAROUSAL!"
- Ken B.
|"Subject: Peeing in your full
If you remember your lore, you can remember that CC3 was spent on the outskirts of Monterey, actually we were supposed to be laying seige to Monterey, but some errant bookie had the foresight to keep the city gates at a distance. Because of the bone chilling winds the only sight that kept the carousers attention was the warm jacuzzi, and this attraction was elevated to moths to flame by the fact that no one seemed to keep a time clock and no one ever enforced the "no bottles" rule at the poolside. Len R. and I sweared that because we were in the mecca of sealife flora and fauna we would go for a scuba dive. Hurricane whats-her-bitch was a-blowing. Len had heard that Point Lobos was a great dive site. We had rented the equipment the day before at the bay. Nevermind that the scuba neophites were puking their respective guts out when returning to the safe bay beach. We fucking well spent good money renting this equipment and by God we were going to get our monies worth. Our only problem was that our equipment was due back at 2:00 PM the next day. So what if those pussies were blowing chunks on the beach, we kept our snorkles clean didn't we? If we didn't get a second dive in the next day, what kind of carousers were we anyway? We got up early the next day, but it was no surprise to share a breakfast of suds by the jacuzzi-side. It seemed at the time that there could be no better breakfast than beer with close friends. Two hours later Len and I were battling a major surge, tugging at your loins harder than desparate carouser. We had no clue as to our dive plan once we hit the water. The surge took us everywhere and there was little to see. An hour later we were out of the muck. Len pulled off his wetsuit, then I pulled off mine. We both took a deep whiff, and looked at each other sympathetically. The moral of the story is don't pound beers for breakfast and go for a dive, no matter how tempting, and don't pee in your wetsuit-no matter how good you think it will feel. In the end, the only pee that smells worse than the one in your own shorts is the gallon that's in your dive buddy's! I just thank God I never had to share a mouthpiece with Len. Happy Carousing...."
- Mike T.
|"The Love Amoeba, without a doubt
the most intimate moment in all of Carousal lore. I think
it was the same night as the big group dinner where more
phlegm than spaghetti hung from my fork. The
establishment that provided the home to the Love Amoeba
was a small brew pub tended by one of the all-time
Carousal babes(wasn't someone negotiating for her panties
as a momento?). Anyway, good beer, good buddies and
Steeltits and her friend made for a very cozy
environment. Emotions were high, lust was palpable,
groins were swollen. The Amoeba began as a group hug. But
no one let go. Then someone kissed someone else and boom,
lips and tongues were dancing and darting. Bodies moved
closer, groins were swollen. For the most part, men and
women recognized one another. But I had to keep a wary
eye on that Delany tongue, lascivously lashing about from
that warm dreamy buzz only Dave can get.
Monterey. Full of memories, never to be revisited. The way it should be."
- Howard F.
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