I have always dreamt of hitting the road and seeing these great United States of ours from coast to coast … visiting the monuments, the national forests, the natural phenomenon; sampling the diverse cultures of each and every state—the local food, the nightlife, and, of course, the women. A sort of manifest destiny of fuck. A truly patriotic conquest.
I could get some cheese stakes in Philly during the day. And at night I could really learn why It’s Always Sunny. Maybe get some legendary BBQ in St. Louis. Then have backs arching like the gateway for dessert. Ah, how I would love to go down to St. Augustine, Florida and take a dip in the fountain of youth. Then drive a few hours down to Miami to snort coke off an escort’s ass (South Florida has some of the hottest girls in the world … and something about the heat and humidity just makes them so damn horny).
This would really be the trip of a lifetime. Maybe somebody will give me a book deal with a hefty advance to take it someday. I guarantee it would be an interesting read (to say the very least). Plus, sex always sells. So, publishers, feel free to get at me if you want to pay me to fuck escorts around the country and then write about it.
Regardless, I do love to travel as often as I can. I don’t know about you, but I start to feel really claustrophobic if I stay in one place too long. I guess I have something of a nomadic soul. Maybe I just get bored easily. Either way, one benefit of my frequent traveling is that I have developed, over time, the same sort of fortunate set up for myself that Nate Dogg and Ludacris once bragged about. In other words, “I’ve got hoes in different area codes.”