Just back from a week at Hampton Beach New Hampshire- which is most definitely not The Hamptons, but is in fact just one of the more popular of the hundreds of beaches in New England featuring Arcade-littered boardwalks offering culinary delights for any palette as long as it's limited to fried dough, hot dogs, cheap pizza and ice cream, cramped cottages a five-minute walk to the beach renting for $1000 or so a week, and tinny bar music mixed with the sounds of those arcades you can't quite ever get away from (if you were indifferent to the song "Sweet Caroline" when you first visit a New England beach, you are guaranteed to loathe it a week later. Seriously, it's the freaking National Anthem of this region.)
And my very first day back, I'm greeted with...this. A reminder of how awesome it must be to own a palace in Hawaii with a marble driveway to park your tricked-out BMW in. Uh huh. I'm as sure that this is 100 percent accurate as I am that it is 0 percent relatable. Where's a devastating typhoon when you need one? Isn't Hawaii due for a volcano eruption? Give me SOMETHING here.
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