jamón y queso
Dirty old Spanish men are the best people to sit in a corner, shithole bar with and talk about politics.
Q: What should we do about Bush?
A: Hang that motherfucker by his ankles in the town square.
Q: Mccain in office is a scary thought, don't you think?
A: Obama will win, then they'll assassinate him like his name was Bobby Kennedy.
Drinking Spanish beer with a Belgian is good for many reasons, here are 7:
1) I learned, at least according to my friend, that there are over 300 types of Bier in Belgium; there are local festivals where a pint can be sampled for 1 Euro.
2) We can wonder aloud why Turkish people love Vodka so.
3) Leffe used to be a micro brew, but in this modern age of mass prouction has seriously fallen off in terms of quality; Fake American beer snobs, myself included, you are officially on notice!
4) Belgian girls can be very pretty. The ones in Huelva...not so much. (his words)
5) We got free commemorative Cruzcampo glasses by asking nicely to some waitresses at a local bar.
6) We estimated that one bar had roughly 3,000 euros worth of ham hanging above their bar.
7) We felt each other from the inside, long and hard.
Nobody really reads this shit anyway; but if my folks are reading this, then ignore item 7, we all know that all the really gay shit goes down behind closed doors anyway.
2008/09/25
Louder Than Bombs
walking
Britons are OK with me.
Another full morning of walking around rather aimlessly. Toothpaste and a towel have very much been acquired. A mobile phone? No Dice. An apartment? I got phone numbers to call, but I can't do that until I get a phone. Funny place, this Spain.
Many new friends have been made already; Slovenian roomate is chill, Italians hold down the partying front, Turkish guy is humorous, another American named Alex who also enjoys the arts and hails from the tri-state area, even the perpetually fucked up German André knows a thing or two about having a good time.
Another full morning of walking around rather aimlessly. Toothpaste and a towel have very much been acquired. A mobile phone? No Dice. An apartment? I got phone numbers to call, but I can't do that until I get a phone. Funny place, this Spain.
Many new friends have been made already; Slovenian roomate is chill, Italians hold down the partying front, Turkish guy is humorous, another American named Alex who also enjoys the arts and hails from the tri-state area, even the perpetually fucked up German André knows a thing or two about having a good time.
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