And there you have it. The inherent problem with groups of white friends. They inevitably include one person that has easy access to a watercraft and they inevitably include one person that can't drink 8-10 beers and take a joke without swinging on someone. Taking a relaxing trip out to sea to bask in the sun while downing an innumerable amount of cold ones almost always sounds like a good plan. However, the idea of doing so usually takes precedence over the fact that seclusion and belligerence are a volatile combination.
You just know every single person on that boat considered this a likely ending to a lovely afternoon, but they intentionally suppressed that thought in their mind so as to enjoy a summer weekend with friends. You see that fat kid in the turquoise bathing suit? That's the waddle of a man whose wasted far too many nights breaking up far too many scuffles between these same two idiots over the years. I know he just got done battling gravity, but that attempt to interfere was so begrudged that it made Daria look like a gym class hero. Truth be told, I don't even blame him. That was the most fruitless cat fight between white people on a boat since a couple Becky's brought the claws out in an effort to be the first mouth on Kyrie Irving's penis during his post-championship yacht party. Until the antenna got swung that altercation was far too funny to take seriously. Either way, this was a pretty predictable conclusion to a bunch of young caucasians binge drinking in a remote location. Far more predictable than the fact that this group of losers was able to convince three young women - no matter what they look like - to willingly join them...