The doctors have once again reminded me of the terminal-ness of my condition, and as a result of the stressful two-day school week I endured they recommended I take a vacation.
What better place than Amsterdam? My partner in crime, Ann, and I decided there is no better place to forget your woes than where one can buy marijuana cigarettes legally, and also we must not forget the red light districts which are common and sanctioned as well.
Due to these circumstances the last three days of my life are a blur of drug-induced hallucinations, shady alleys, and dutch. Lots and lots of dutch.
What I do remember is: a clown's bellybutton, a magic wallet, a vegan restaurant, pear juice, Robin Williams as a robo-... I'm sorry, I mean 'human', fisherman's sandwiches, two Germans, a Spainard, and couple of Dubains, one of which recently quit his illegal job and plans to go to England to pursue more employment, the market, some sort of magic mushrooms, the homeless, a statue of a policeman, flat tires, Sidekicks: The Best Movie Ever, du walen es spuit, bed stealing, and of course the holy Euro which is not as nearly inflated as the God-forsaken GBP.
Next weekend is Ireland, and I believe seeing some Irish music in an Irish pub drinking Irish beer with the Irish sounds like a good way to end my life, or at least forget the one I have got coming.
P.S. If you give any validity to any of the drug references in the previous yarn, you must obviously be a stoner yourself and have no clear grip on reality. The end of my existence is not enough reason for me to cloud my experiences with bong smoke and the moronic stupor of drunkenness, so give me some credit.
Current mood: high
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