Once again we grew bored, and headed back into town, taking the slow way along some meandering paths through beautifully landscaped areas, that just begged to be driven through by american off-roaders in their tricked out SUVs. I paused while Roger frolicked through the flower beds, giggling like a schoolgirl and smoking his crack pipe to dull the painful guilt of what we'd - errr, he'd - done to Quentin earlier.

We quickly set upon a lovely idea for a diversion - attempting to take pictures of hot women without their knowledge and/or consent!

There were many opportunities to be perverted along the beach and quite a few glares were to be had as we blatantly disregarded the simple and common rules of beachside etiquette by not ignoring the topless sunbathers and their deeply tanned racks, as well as refusing to refrain from broadening our pictorial historical record in pretty much every sense of the word "broad." On a few lucky occasions, we even managed to be-foxen and hot re-baben said record. In one extremely sad instance, we accidentally bemaled it. But we won't speak any further about that.

For instance, this young rollerblader was having a break to talk to her four thousand year old, bikini-clad grandmother when we happened by. It was very obvious that grandma didn't approve of me adding this moment to my digital memory when her face yawned open to reveal four sets of razor sharp teeth and her legs began to churn like a steam locomotive as she prepared to chase us down and eat our souls. Yes, it was again time to move on.