Here beginneth part two of all the awesome things you can do at the Outer Banks (PHUT):

            I would be completely remiss in my duties as a guy who makes snarky comments about things were I to neglect to mention the T-Shirt Whirl (not to be confused with T-Shirt World, which is the far more wholesome of the two, and as such not nearly as entertaining).  Now, you’re likely already familiar with the concept behind establishments of this sort.  They’ve got a bunch of shirts, and they’ve got a bunch of various pictures, pithy aphorisms, and downright crap that you can get put on them.  This, in itself, is not particularly funny, I admit, but when you take into consideration the fact that T-Shirt Whirl has a wide variety of material to choose from, running the gamut from “Teddy Bear with a Pirate Hat On” to the ever-popular “Flaming Skull with a Rattlesnake In Front of a Confederate Flag Riding a Motorcycle with a Hot Babe” and captions to match, you’ve got some serious mix and match potential.  For instance, how about a picture of the Grim Reaper with the words “I’m too cute to throw back!”  Or conversely, a picture of kitten in a sun bonnet saying “Support Your Local Hookers.”  Or maybe a picture of the previously-mentioned Flaming Skull etc, etc, with the caption, “Grandpa’s Fishing Buddy.”  And of course, the funniest of all, a picture of a teddy bear riding a tractor, over which it says, “Been Farming Long?  Bitch!”  Seriously, every time I get sad thinking about how Arby’s doesn’t serve baby seal croissanwiches, I just imagine a cute t-shirt saying and add “bitch” to it; it makes life so much more ridiculous.  Also, they sell stickers there that say “Surrender the Booty!”  I bought one and put it on my van next to my Model U.N. sticker.  At first I thought it would look weird and clashy, but sadly, it turned out to look horribly appropriate.

            And of course, while you’re at the beach, you might as well get out and see something that you can only see while you’re there: ugly people in thong bathing suits!  No, wait, don’t go look at them, you’re not missing anything, and unless you’re an escaped Nazi war criminal who feels all guilty and wants to suffer, in which case thong away, Colonel Klink, you’ve earned it.  Actually, what I meant to say you should check out are the lighthouses.  The Outer Banks have like, a jillion of these, all of which formed millions of years ago after the magma from extinct volcanoes formed tall, tower-like structures which, in the 18^th century, inspired safety-minded seafarers to turn them all into fish tank gravel and build a bunch of lighthouses.  Now, all the brochures tell you that the lighthouses, like snowflakes, are all wonderful and different, and you really ought to drive a hundred and fifty miles all up and down the island so you can see all of them in all their natural glory.  This is retarded, because they all look pretty much alike, except they’re painted different and have different quaint little postcard histories.  So yeah, unless you’re working out some kind of weird Freudian issues or something, just go see one or two, ya freak.

            And speaking of big stuff that you can only find at the beach, make sure you pay a visit to Jockey’s Ridge, the carnivorous sand dune of death..  I have no idea how it got that name (the Jockey part, not the death), since there’s neither horse racing nor an underpants factory there (nor, of course, a factory where they make horses into underwear, cause that would just be strange and I already regret imagining it).  It is however, a giant sand dune which happens to be slowing consuming a neighboring town.  Really, its already eaten like, a dozen houses, a miniature golf course (not the Bootleg Wookie one though, thank heavens) and a couple of slow-moving children.  Also, I think there might be sand worms there, though to tell the truth, the perpetual hang glider infestation is a lot worse (The Perpetual Hang Glider Infestation would, of course, make a totally sweet name for a band).

            And right next door to the carnivorous sand dune of death, is the Wright Brothers Memorial.  This, needless to say, commemorates the place where, a hundred years ago, Orville and Redenbacher Wright built a plane out of popsicle sticks and bicycle parts.  Everyone else laughed at them, “Ha ha,” they said, but the Wright Brothers wanted more than anything to be on both the Ohio and North Carolina State Quarter, so they went ahead anyway.  Their first plane flew a total of something like five inches, and eventually crashed, killing Orville, and driving his grieving brother to start a popcorn company.  Also, for reasons unknown to mankind, the monument has a chimney, and no doors.  I suspect that a hobbit lives in it, or maybe it’s just full of chocolate.

            Finally, while you’re at the beach, read “Ivanhoe”, by Sir Willard Scott.  I know, reading a medieval geek novel at the beach is as strange as Charleton Heston singing “Mmm Bop”, but fortunately for me, the Nation Council of Recommending Things That Are None of It’s Business (composed of Jimmy Carter, the two surviving members of Hanson, and an Andrews Sister) recently endorsed it as “A Totally Weaselicious Beach Book”.  Don’t even bother wondering why this compelled me to read it; some things are better off remaining a mystery.  Unhappily, the title is a total lie, the titular dude, Ivan, isn’t even remotely a Hoe, and everybody is really angsty for about six hundred pages.  Come to think of it, I don’t even know why I mentioned this; you know what, instead of reading, just sing the Super Mario Brothers Song (with sound effects) along with your sister when your family is driving somewhere.  You’ll probably annoy your mom, but if you can make it through the octopus level without snarfing yourself giddy, you can at least feel like you’ve accomplished something.