British battle scars

So another Virgin Islands cherry was popped over the weekend.

I finally made it to England -- actually, it was the small island of Jost Van Dyke -- for the first time and upon telling this to my cohorts, shots of vodka suddenly appeared.

I also met one of the most interesting people, in my opinion, from around these parts.

Foxy, the proprietor of Foxy's Beach Bar, is legendary. Thousands of people venture out to his bar on Jost (which is the British Virgin Islands) every New Year's Eve for a huge party. I already asked him to save me a seat for 2012.

When our boat crew came ashore about 11 a.m. last Saturday, a few people on board decided to pay him a visit and he did not disappoint. First of all, he's been knighted by the Queen of England -- no joke. And word has it he was the first and only person to enter the Royal Palace barefoot.

He wasn't wearing any shoes Saturday and within minutes of meeting him, he started to belt out rhymes that described just about any city in the U.S. All you had to do what name it: Dallas, Camden, NJ, Compton -- he had a descriptive and well-thought out rhyme for each.

After doing a shot of fire water with Foxy, we moved on to other popular watering holes on Water Bay. Everyone always talks about The Soggy Dollar and their pain killers. It was cool but my favorite spot was One Love. It was 3 p.m., they had live music and I could barely keep myself from falling off the bar stool.

My friend Josh was also enjoying a rare day off and together, we decided to get weird.

JOSH: "Let's just keep drinking Jager."

ME: "Are you crazy? I have a wife and kids. I can't get all wasted in the middle of the day."

JOSH: "Sounds like you've already had too many."

ME: "Bartender! We'll take two shots of Jager, please."

The day continued on that pace until I realized I hadn't eaten any food yet. I fell back to our boat and bulldozed into our group's snack bag. The captain was no where to be found but the beers on board were ice cold and the party location shifted.

My beautiful girlfriend and her bikini-clad lady friends decided to lay out on the boat. My friend Jerry would call it 'Deck Candy' and I kept fumbling around looking for my camera. He took a picture of his girlfriend on a boat once, sent it into a boating magazine and now she is a magazine cover model.

The day wore on and my alcohol level remained heightened. Right before we left, I held two bottled beers (one in each hand) and tried to negotiate a big floated thing that was on the front of the boat. My boating terminology is grand. My obstacle course skills were impaired and I fell flat on my face but I managed to keep the beers upright so it was a minor victory.

No one saw the spectacle except for the boat captain, who did not laugh and just said, "I've seen so many people do that before..."

Falling on your face can be hilarious. But there was a rusty screw that stuck out where my exposed torso majestically glided across the boat surface. It was not cool. It left a bloody streak that started near my left nipple and ended in my armpit hair. Good thing I have such a muscular chest.

I was embarassed and my girlfriend was ashamed. What would Foxy think of my exploits? I wonder if he showed the Queen any of his drunken battle wounds?

I hope I don't get hepatitis or Mad Cow Disease. You can never trust the British.