We left Westport today and travelled down the coast to a hostel owned by a man named Liz. Liz is 81 year's old, has recently broken his leg, looks like an elderly member of "ZZ Top" and has catered to the Kiwi sExperience since around 1991. That means that he has had continuous themed parties every single night for almost two decades. This was the most patient man I have ever met. (Some of you may have noted that I used the spelling of Experience with an "s" at the beginning, more about that later.)
On the way to the hostel we stopped off at a seal colony and a Possum museum in order to learn about a Kiwi "delicacy." See those little black blobs that look like squirrel shit? Those are seals.
Back to the possum museum. While some cultures consider these animals the equivalent of a large rodent, in New Zealand they are considered gourmet. All was going well until I was chosen to give food to the wild boar that was out back. I hopped over the fence and the little moat with the eels in it, (no joke,) proceeded to unlock the gate and let the pig into the enclosure. Things were looking up when all of a sudden the pig turned around and bit the shit out of my leg while trying to make a run at me. Luckily I managed to hide behind the door and then when the fat little bastard got bored I chucked the remainder of the food back out the door and locked it behind him. While I tried to regain my composure, everyone else in my group was busy trying not to piss their pants laughing.
We arrived at the hostel and the theme was a "P" party. So you had to go as something that began with a "P". There were a lot of policemen and pregnant people but being the seriously disturbed and twisted individual that I am I decided to do something a little different. I went as the "Playmate of the Year in 1993....Anna Nicole Smith."
While I didn't win the prize there were many in the audience who felt that I was robbed and that just because my costume did not toe the line and seriously challenged any shred of dignity, self restraint/respect, and moral fiber that I may have had left, I still made the biggest impression. I don't remember a lot of the night but apparently I was completely misbehaved as usual and both my parents would be extremely disappointed.
Now the whole thing of the "sExpereince." Before the party started the bus driver recognized the signs of a weed lover and invited me to smoke a joint with him. There I learned that the nickname for the Kiwi Experience has absolutely nothing to do with the people riding the bus, just the people who drive them! Now the driver assured me that if you are caught by another driver scoring with a passenger, you get a beating, literally. You have to lie on the floor while all the other drivers kick you repeatedly as hard as they can until they get bored. (This has actually led to some people getting seriously hurt, one poor little fella even got kicked in the head so hard he was dazed for a significant length of time.) Now here's the real kicker. When a driver gets down with a passenger there is a tradition that the driver signs her card that is her right of passage for the bus. But get this, there is a code whereby the drivers can actually alert other drivers of the easy chicks so as to improve their odds as well. For instance if a passenger has a set of "bunny ears" next to her name, she's a little loose in the caboose. However if she has a "3" beside her name she's into......well.......you get the idea.......is that hysterical or what???? HA!
