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Non-Political Coronavirus Thread

2&2 Slider To Leyritz said:
No we've already got outdoor reservations for the restaurants and they'll split us up. Staying in separate condos, will meet up out on the beach. Bringing the fogger and one of the commercial office air filters, cleans 5,000 sq ft in 10 minutes. Should be fun.
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Where are you eating?
 
DeaconBrews said:
Oh you're definitely gonna get it here, you sure about coming?
Click to expand...

One time way back in college, I went to Myrtle with my brother and two of our childhood friends who had just joined a fraternity. My brother (the unknowing soon-to-be fighter pilot), Adam, and Dumpster. Dumpster was the best looking dude of the crew by far, but he...wasn't bright. At all.

It was such an epic beach trip, but it all started at Hook's all-you-can-eat buffet. We four jacked dudes walked into that calabash heaven ready to dominate seafood like homoerotic fan-fiction.

We sat down, had our drink orders filled, and then stepped up to greatness; shrimp drowning in butter, like we would no doubt soon be drowning in pussy. All of us tucked in to our first plate. We're all going hard in the paint, shoveling crab cakes, baked fish, and god knows what else into our bellies. I was the first to slow down after my first plate - something was off. I couldn't tell exactly what was wrong at that point, but I started to feel decidedly un-pumped. I asked my chowing bros, "you guys feeling ok?" Dumpster was happily guzzling shrimp, Adam was up getting a second plate, and my brother (who is the most stubborn man alive) assured me that everything was fine. We had each paid about $10, and we sure as shit needed to get our money's worth.

I bowed out. Ate a few breadsticks while being called a giant fucking pussy. I watched the rest of them continue to dominate.

Adam was the next to slow down. We'd been there about 30 minutes at this point, and Adam started to get a little pale. He kept asking the waitress for more water. My brother, stubborn as ever, told us that it didn't matter if things were a little bit off, he's fucking eating his $10 worth. Dumpster? Still merrily shoveling crabs into his face.

Clocking in at the 1 hour mark, we're all ready to leave. We settle the check. Adam looks like actual dogshit; bent over and white as a ghost. My stomach is doing backflips. My brother is sitting straight up, full of food, but repeating over and over, "I'm fucking fine;" his forehead is bent in discomfort. Dumpster offers to drive with a smile, I tell him to get fucked if he thinks he possesses the intellectual capacity to drive my old 4Runner.

My brother makes it three steps away from the restaurant - not even halfway to the car, before he pops. Just huge fucking projectile vomit. Wave after wave of barely digested seafood exploding all over the gravel parking lot. I go back in the restaurant to get some things to clean him up and casually mention that they might want to cycle out the buffet. Manager tells me to get fucked. Ok.

We make it to the hotel. Adam is not ok. We get up to the 8th floor; balcony room, ocean view. Lovin' it. My brother has mostly recovered; but is a shell of a human being. Adam b-lines for the bathroom. Dumpster starts watching cartoons on the TV. He's a grown man.

What follows is Adam's fucking D-day. His asshole is a garden hose of semi-liquid chunky shit flying out of him at warp speed - and thankfully the sink is right next to the toilet; because he's filling that up with pink vomit. It's so chunky that it won't go down the drain, so it isn't long before our hotel room smells like death. My brother can't handle the smell and throws up off the balcony. I try to non-homosexually help Adam get cleaned up. He's in a bad way. Dumpster is still engrossed in whatever bullshit is on the TV; unfazed by the sounds and smells coming from the bathroom.

Adam is empty at this point. He's fetal in the bathtub, wearing nothing but a hotel towel and pain. The toilet is clogged, but no TP has been used. The sink looks like someone gutted a string of fish into it. Unfortunately, I'm the only one competent to do anything at this point. My brother and Adam are totally out of commission; and Dumpster is a man-child. He's started drinking the Seagram's that we bought before the restaurant.

I track down the hotel super and get a plunger. I manage to wrestle the brown dragon down the pipe. The sink is another story. It's not going down, so I grab the brown paper bag that the gin came in. Hand scoop by hand scoop, I fill the bag with what looks like soggy Twinkies dyed pink and mashed. It's been hours since we ate at this point. Adam finally makes it out of the tub, but he looks like he's been to fucking Nam. My brother has come in from the balcony and is putting on his club outfit - "It's fucking Saturday Night, we're going to the fucking club." Adam looks like my brother has cut him with a sword. Dumpster is over-joyed. I'm trying to find a place to put this fucking bag full of vomit.

My brother says there are parties going on, because the hotel right next to us has a rager slaying it on the 7th floor. He saw it while he was throwing up off our balcony. I say whatever and get dressed to go out. Adam looks like a dog that's been habitually abused by his owners as he suits up in the classic cargo shorts and popped-collar polo.

It's around 11 at this point, so my brother gets the bright idea to yell over at the other party on the balcony to see what's up. They laugh and tell him to get fucked. I've found a place for the bag of vomit. It hits their balcony door with the force of 10,000 pink suns. Their balcony now looks like someone tried to suck-start a shotgun.

We start walking to the club and make it without incident. We're instantly busying ourselves with Dumpster's cast-offs. The dude makes Ashton Kutcher, Brad Pitt, and Antonio Banderas look like dogshit. He's that good; as long as he doesn't open his mouth wider than a smile. We're 30 minutes high on what is going to be our huge turn around for the night, when Adam comes up to me and says, "we've got to go. Like, now." I assess the situation, and it's clear that he's either shit himself or is about to. I wanna help out, so I gather up my brother and Dumpster and we all head out. Adam is not looking good. He's gone pale again and looks like he's riding an invisible horse back to the hotel. He has shit running down his leg, which is being kicked up by his flip-flops. It's...not good. We make it back and get turned in. Adam spends the night in the bathtub with a pillow.

So yeah, don't go to Myrtle Beach - you'll catch something.
 
Myrtle beach is alright in the off season. Fuck going there in the summer.
 
Grabs Turds Bare said:
One time way back in college, I went to Myrtle with my brother and two of our childhood friends who had just joined a fraternity. My brother (the unknowing soon-to-be fighter pilot), Adam, and Dumpster. Dumpster was the best looking dude of the crew by far, but he...wasn't bright. At all.

It was such an epic beach trip, but it all started at Hook's all-you-can-eat buffet. We four jacked dudes walked into that calabash heaven ready to dominate seafood like homoerotic fan-fiction.

We sat down, had our drink orders filled, and then stepped up to greatness; shrimp drowning in butter, like we would no doubt soon be drowning in pussy. All of us tucked in to our first plate. We're all going hard in the paint, shoveling crab cakes, baked fish, and god knows what else into our bellies. I was the first to slow down after my first plate - something was off. I couldn't tell exactly what was wrong at that point, but I started to feel decidedly un-pumped. I asked my chowing bros, "you guys feeling ok?" Dumpster was happily guzzling shrimp, Adam was up getting a second plate, and my brother (who is the most stubborn man alive) assured me that everything was fine. We had each paid about $10, and we sure as shit needed to get our money's worth.

I bowed out. Ate a few breadsticks while being called a giant fucking pussy. I watched the rest of them continue to dominate.

Adam was the next to slow down. We'd been there about 30 minutes at this point, and Adam started to get a little pale. He kept asking the waitress for more water. My brother, stubborn as ever, told us that it didn't matter if things were a little bit off, he's fucking eating his $10 worth. Dumpster? Still merrily shoveling crabs into his face.

Clocking in at the 1 hour mark, we're all ready to leave. We settle the check. Adam looks like actual dogshit; bent over and white as a ghost. My stomach is doing backflips. My brother is sitting straight up, full of food, but repeating over and over, "I'm fucking fine;" his forehead is bent in discomfort. Dumpster offers to drive with a smile, I tell him to get fucked if he thinks he possesses the intellectual capacity to drive my old 4Runner.

My brother makes it three steps away from the restaurant - not even halfway to the car, before he pops. Just huge fucking projectile vomit. Wave after wave of barely digested seafood exploding all over the gravel parking lot. I go back in the restaurant to get some things to clean him up and casually mention that they might want to cycle out the buffet. Manager tells me to get fucked. Ok.

We make it to the hotel. Adam is not ok. We get up to the 8th floor; balcony room, ocean view. Lovin' it. My brother has mostly recovered; but is a shell of a human being. Adam b-lines for the bathroom. Dumpster starts watching cartoons on the TV. He's a grown man.

What follows is Adam's fucking D-day. His asshole is a garden hose of semi-liquid chunky shit flying out of him at warp speed - and thankfully the sink is right next to the toilet; because he's filling that up with pink vomit. It's so chunky that it won't go down the drain, so it isn't long before our hotel room smells like death. My brother can't handle the smell and throws up off the balcony. I try to non-homosexually help Adam get cleaned up. He's in a bad way. Dumpster is still engrossed in whatever bullshit is on the TV; unfazed by the sounds and smells coming from the bathroom.

Adam is empty at this point. He's fetal in the bathtub, wearing nothing but a hotel towel and pain. The toilet is clogged, but no TP has been used. The sink looks like someone gutted a string of fish into it. Unfortunately, I'm the only one competent to do anything at this point. My brother and Adam are totally out of commission; and Dumpster is a man-child. He's started drinking the Seagram's that we bought before the restaurant.

I track down the hotel super and get a plunger. I manage to wrestle the brown dragon down the pipe. The sink is another story. It's not going down, so I grab the brown paper bag that the gin came in. Hand scoop by hand scoop, I fill the bag with what looks like soggy Twinkies dyed pink and mashed. It's been hours since we ate at this point. Adam finally makes it out of the tub, but he looks like he's been to fucking Nam. My brother has come in from the balcony and is putting on his club outfit - "It's fucking Saturday Night, we're going to the fucking club." Adam looks like my brother has cut him with a sword. Dumpster is over-joyed. I'm trying to find a place to put this fucking bag full of vomit.

My brother says there are parties going on, because the hotel right next to us has a rager slaying it on the 7th floor. He saw it while he was throwing up off our balcony. I say whatever and get dressed to go out. Adam looks like a dog that's been habitually abused by his owners as he suits up in the classic cargo shorts and popped-collar polo.

It's around 11 at this point, so my brother gets the bright idea to yell over at the other party on the balcony to see what's up. They laugh and tell him to get fucked. I've found a place for the bag of vomit. It hits their balcony door with the force of 10,000 pink suns. Their balcony now looks like someone tried to suck-start a shotgun.

We start walking to the club and make it without incident. We're instantly busying ourselves with Dumpster's cast-offs. The dude makes Ashton Kutcher, Brad Pitt, and Antonio Banderas look like dogshit. He's that good; as long as he doesn't open his mouth wider than a smile. We're 30 minutes high on what is going to be our huge turn around for the night, when Adam comes up to me and says, "we've got to go. Like, now." I assess the situation, and it's clear that he's either shit himself or is about to. I wanna help out, so I gather up my brother and Dumpster and we all head out. Adam is not looking good. He's gone pale again and looks like he's riding an invisible horse back to the hotel. He has shit running down his leg, which is being kicked up by his flip-flops. It's...not good. We make it back and get turned in. Adam spends the night in the bathtub with a pillow.

So yeah, don't go to Myrtle Beach - you'll catch something.
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i call BS on the bolded item
 
Living in PI and having been to Myrtle a couple of times the past month, I cannot stress enough how bad of a decision it is to come down here unless you plan on just staying in your hotel/condo and not ever going out to do the tourists stuff. People aren’t wearing masks, lines are long as hell at restaurants, and people are basically acting like it doesn’t exist down here.

I hope to god you aren’t staying with the other families either in one big home.
 
DeaconBrews said:
You will be disappointed with how many posters vacation at the Grand Strand or have vacation homes here
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I've always had a blast at Dirty Myrtle. Of course, I'm not going to shack up with those mouth breathers down on the strip. That's ridiculous. But there are some amazing homes so large they basically have their own beach. We always stay with friends and family at 3500 Ocean Blvd and I've never had a bad time there.
 
Louis Gossett Jr said:
No person that can afford any other beach should go to Myrtle Beach.
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The general Myrtle Beach hate is too broad. Sure, many parts of MB are pretty crappy, crowded, over-run with rednecks, etc... But there are also really nice parts and beautiful beaches. The Grand Strand encompasses over 50 miles - you just need to be a little selective about where you spend your time.
 
I knew who the hero of that story would be the moment I read his name was "Dumpster"
 
I went to myrtle 2 weekends ago for a friends birthday weekend. Our group did a good job of social distancing. Others not so much from my observations. There were droves of people on the beach. Looked like a stadium atmosphere. Of the few thousand people I saw that weekend, maybe only 50 were wearing masks that I witnessed. We went out for dinner 2 nights and the restaurants were business as usual. Employees weren't wearing masks and there wasn't a seating limit. People at this point are choosing to live their lives it would appear.
 
cheeseheads12 said:
I went to myrtle 2 weekends ago for a friends birthday weekend. Our group did a good job of social distancing. Others not so much from my observations. There were droves of people on the beach. Looked like a stadium atmosphere. Of the few thousand people I saw that weekend, maybe only 50 were wearing masks that I witnessed. We went out for dinner 2 nights and the restaurants were business as usual. Employees weren't wearing masks and there wasn't a seating limit. People at this point are choosing to live their lives it would appear.
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Yeah it’s one thing to be an online badass but take precautions in real life. Not naming names. But there it will be lots of folks that take no precautions. Restaurants outside or not would be the last place I’d go.
 
When I crossed over the bridge after post-exams Senior year, having been to Myrtle 6x in 4 years, I swore I'd never return. Have not been back since. It's a wonder we never got GTB sick at that Duffy's seafood place. Hot Diggity Dog, however, was ELIte late night food.
 
Sea Captain's House is one of the bright food spots in Myrtle.

I consider between Calabash and Murrells Inlet to nearly be a food dead area.
 
I too have never returned to Myrtle since beach week/post exams. The same was true for the mountain version of Gaitlinburg until last year when my wife’s cousin got married around there. It was everything I expected/remembered it to be and can’t seem Myrtle being any different.
 
Louis Gossett Jr said:
I too have never returned to Myrtle since beach week/post exams. The same was true for the mountain version of Gaitlinburg until last year when my wife’s cousin got married around there. It was everything I expected/remembered it to be and can’t seem Myrtle being any different.
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Do you have kids? Kids love stupid shit. There’s an abundance of stupid shit in Myrtle Beach.
 
Grabs Turds Bare said:
One time way back in college, I went to Myrtle with my brother and two of our childhood friends who had just joined a fraternity. My brother (the unknowing soon-to-be fighter pilot), Adam, and Dumpster. Dumpster was the best looking dude of the crew by far, but he...wasn't bright. At all.

It was such an epic beach trip, but it all started at Hook's all-you-can-eat buffet. We four jacked dudes walked into that calabash heaven ready to dominate seafood like homoerotic fan-fiction.

We sat down, had our drink orders filled, and then stepped up to greatness; shrimp drowning in butter, like we would no doubt soon be drowning in pussy. All of us tucked in to our first plate. We're all going hard in the paint, shoveling crab cakes, baked fish, and god knows what else into our bellies. I was the first to slow down after my first plate - something was off. I couldn't tell exactly what was wrong at that point, but I started to feel decidedly un-pumped. I asked my chowing bros, "you guys feeling ok?" Dumpster was happily guzzling shrimp, Adam was up getting a second plate, and my brother (who is the most stubborn man alive) assured me that everything was fine. We had each paid about $10, and we sure as shit needed to get our money's worth.

I bowed out. Ate a few breadsticks while being called a giant fucking pussy. I watched the rest of them continue to dominate.

Adam was the next to slow down. We'd been there about 30 minutes at this point, and Adam started to get a little pale. He kept asking the waitress for more water. My brother, stubborn as ever, told us that it didn't matter if things were a little bit off, he's fucking eating his $10 worth. Dumpster? Still merrily shoveling crabs into his face.

Clocking in at the 1 hour mark, we're all ready to leave. We settle the check. Adam looks like actual dogshit; bent over and white as a ghost. My stomach is doing backflips. My brother is sitting straight up, full of food, but repeating over and over, "I'm fucking fine;" his forehead is bent in discomfort. Dumpster offers to drive with a smile, I tell him to get fucked if he thinks he possesses the intellectual capacity to drive my old 4Runner.

My brother makes it three steps away from the restaurant - not even halfway to the car, before he pops. Just huge fucking projectile vomit. Wave after wave of barely digested seafood exploding all over the gravel parking lot. I go back in the restaurant to get some things to clean him up and casually mention that they might want to cycle out the buffet. Manager tells me to get fucked. Ok.

We make it to the hotel. Adam is not ok. We get up to the 8th floor; balcony room, ocean view. Lovin' it. My brother has mostly recovered; but is a shell of a human being. Adam b-lines for the bathroom. Dumpster starts watching cartoons on the TV. He's a grown man.

What follows is Adam's fucking D-day. His asshole is a garden hose of semi-liquid chunky shit flying out of him at warp speed - and thankfully the sink is right next to the toilet; because he's filling that up with pink vomit. It's so chunky that it won't go down the drain, so it isn't long before our hotel room smells like death. My brother can't handle the smell and throws up off the balcony. I try to non-homosexually help Adam get cleaned up. He's in a bad way. Dumpster is still engrossed in whatever bullshit is on the TV; unfazed by the sounds and smells coming from the bathroom.

Adam is empty at this point. He's fetal in the bathtub, wearing nothing but a hotel towel and pain. The toilet is clogged, but no TP has been used. The sink looks like someone gutted a string of fish into it. Unfortunately, I'm the only one competent to do anything at this point. My brother and Adam are totally out of commission; and Dumpster is a man-child. He's started drinking the Seagram's that we bought before the restaurant.

I track down the hotel super and get a plunger. I manage to wrestle the brown dragon down the pipe. The sink is another story. It's not going down, so I grab the brown paper bag that the gin came in. Hand scoop by hand scoop, I fill the bag with what looks like soggy Twinkies dyed pink and mashed. It's been hours since we ate at this point. Adam finally makes it out of the tub, but he looks like he's been to fucking Nam. My brother has come in from the balcony and is putting on his club outfit - "It's fucking Saturday Night, we're going to the fucking club." Adam looks like my brother has cut him with a sword. Dumpster is over-joyed. I'm trying to find a place to put this fucking bag full of vomit.

My brother says there are parties going on, because the hotel right next to us has a rager slaying it on the 7th floor. He saw it while he was throwing up off our balcony. I say whatever and get dressed to go out. Adam looks like a dog that's been habitually abused by his owners as he suits up in the classic cargo shorts and popped-collar polo.

It's around 11 at this point, so my brother gets the bright idea to yell over at the other party on the balcony to see what's up. They laugh and tell him to get fucked. I've found a place for the bag of vomit. It hits their balcony door with the force of 10,000 pink suns. Their balcony now looks like someone tried to suck-start a shotgun.

We start walking to the club and make it without incident. We're instantly busying ourselves with Dumpster's cast-offs. The dude makes Ashton Kutcher, Brad Pitt, and Antonio Banderas look like dogshit. He's that good; as long as he doesn't open his mouth wider than a smile. We're 30 minutes high on what is going to be our huge turn around for the night, when Adam comes up to me and says, "we've got to go. Like, now." I assess the situation, and it's clear that he's either shit himself or is about to. I wanna help out, so I gather up my brother and Dumpster and we all head out. Adam is not looking good. He's gone pale again and looks like he's riding an invisible horse back to the hotel. He has shit running down his leg, which is being kicked up by his flip-flops. It's...not good. We make it back and get turned in. Adam spends the night in the bathtub with a pillow.

So yeah, don't go to Myrtle Beach - you'll catch something.
Click to expand...

Damn; I just lost my lunch reading that.
 
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