A few weeks ago I attended Splash! Vol. 6, the Macau Hard Rock Rockporium of pool parties, debauchery and complete mayhem. Besides the fact that I was fatter than 95 percent of people out there (and, for the record, I’m not fat—pool parties just attract in-shape people for obvious reasons) swimming shindigs are great: sun, alcohol, passing out on a flotation device, immediately knowing which girl to talk to. Add in Macau, Portuguese food, a hot craps table, Club Cubic and the Asia Adult Expo next door, and it was about to get real. Like, REAL.
The realness started at 9:30am when Managing Editor William Zachary Hines banged on my door. I was passed out nude on my couch with what seemed to be an ice-pack on my shoulder but it had been left there so long it was now being heated by the sun. “This isn’t good,” I thought. “Let’s go!” Zach yelled, like only a grown nerd with glasses can.
I explained that I was hungover and sleep was more important. “Sleep when you die!” he yelled and I imagined a sweet “Ode to a Nightingale”-esque death with no hangover. “Dude, there is absolutely no way I can get off of this couch” I said. “Pool party. Girls.” Zach responded. One hour later we were in Macau.
We got there at 2pm just as it was starting, with only a few waiters mulling about and a group of English dudes acting like douches. Don’t worry—they multiplied. Apparently the party got good around 6 o’clock so I retired to my room, making a mental note to remain more conscious than my last Hed Kandi fail (passed out by 5:15 pm). At 7pm I returned, ready to have a quiet beer and ease into the evening. We headed downstairs.
It was MADNESS outside. Writing can’t do it justice but I’ll try:
True to form, there were six groups of English blokes testing the old saying that the only difference between an English dude and a gay man is approximately six beers. There was dude groping, piggyback riding, fondling and a large block of men wearing swimming trunks called Budgy Smugglers who I honestly shouldn’t give free press to because they were horrendous to look at. Let’s call them car accident trunks: it’s horrible and tragic but you can’t look away.
There was some sort of beach ball warfare between a group of Indians and Chinese with a confused white high-schooler pacing in-between and being repeatedly struck in the head.
