Polkster Said: Forum Update: Post in the new forum:
www.PolkOut.com/forum. It's hosted on my server, and if that starts getting laggy in the future I can just pay for more bandwidth. Any artistic contribution to the forum would be terrific. You can still check out the
old forum, and older pages will still link to it for now, so... uh... do whatever with that intel.
Quick shit for newcomers: Forum (deviant bullshit),
Feedback (fan art, comments, critiques),
About (check it out and contribute). Do you have a website of your own you want me to give a shout out to? Want to do a crazy guest strip? You can reach me through that email or on the forums.
Instead of recounting my 'adventures' from scratch, for the sake of time, authenticity, and my own sanity, I will plunder forum posts I made during my trip, emails I sent, and notes I took, interspersed with random photographs.
Thursday, March 19th:
8:14 am Forum:
My travel companion/roommate (I'll call him Special K) and I arrived last night. We checked into our hostel, which is way in the North East of the city (the hipper, younger, former industrial artsier area...) where I bought a beer from some vendor on the street ( all beer is too expensive by Prague standards...) and we wandered around a bit.
The city's not quite like the insular, homogenous, racial wonderland that Prague is. Kind of makes it feel more real. We both agreed that the area reminded us a lot of downtown Manhattan and parts of Brooklyn, and was therefore awesome. We're not jingoists or anything, it just so happens that New York is our standard for awesome city and the closer another city comes to emulating it (especially the more organic, grimier (sorry, net cafe only has IE so no spell check ) parts) the better it invariably is.
Special K's up in the room right now, finishing his midterm, so I'm docked for a little bit. We're pretty relaxed in terms of itinerary; neither of us is busting a nut to squeeze every damn touristy fucking attraction into the next few days as possible. Because of the general strike today there's limited metro service, which is kind of good in a way because that means we can hold off on buying a multiday metro pass until tomorrow. Jim Morrison's grave is a short hike from here and the hostel staff is as friendly as they come, so we may take their advice on what else is in hiking range.
Just walking through the city is enjoyable in and of itself. Unlike Amsterdam, it feels like people actually live here. And unlike Prague, it feels like they're not all related to each other (I bet if you swabbed every Czech's cheek you'd find the genetic diversity over there to be on par with the most backwood of trailer parks in rural Tennessee (not to imply the Czech people are uncultured or stupid, some of the best professors I've ever had are there, they're just, of no fault of their own, most likely married to their cousins... which is... you know, cool too I guess...).
Baguettes are delicious and are generally my favorite form of bread, which means I'm expecting hella ''awwww... fuck no'' constipation. I've been pounding away at black coffee and OJ in futile attempts to fuck-start my anus, all to little avail.
That's what my colon looked like after two days of baguettes, cheese (especially fondue, the drippy menace), and Nutella. You know you've reached a low point when you begin contemplating how much it'd cost to get a hooker to feltch this stuff out of you.
8:49 am email correspondence:
These French gals and their voracious sexual appetites... they start maneuver and strategize in packs... well you've played Left 4 Dead... (it's like that, only with horny young ladies instead of the undead... though the fatter ones still puke on you to lure the weaker ones in swarms)
3:53 pm Forum:
I just got back from Jim Morrison's grave. Special K is pooping... or trying to. I'm down here in the computer room, dicking around. I think we've been hiking for a solid five hours straight and we're about to descend into the heart of the city.
Alright, he's back...
''Ass feels like it's on fire''
- Special K
9:15 pm Forum:
I'm going to the catacombs tomorrow. Am not going to desecrate a person's remains.
So we took the subway to the... whatchamcallit Avenue de Invalide... (cripple street? ) and hiked to the Eiffel Tower, past the Eiffel Tower, to that platform where they took that famous photo of Hitler. We proceeded to take tasteless photos in a similar vain, our fingers replacing the 'staches. We then hiked to the arc, down that big bolstering avenue (I guess it's their Times Square equivalent) to the obelisk, and took the metro back. I'm fucking tired as sin...
I've got to say I prefer the area I'm in, way up in the bumble-fuck North Eastern part, to where I was today. The area here seems, well, more like the downtown Manhattan that I enjoy than the Times Square that I'm totally ambivalant towards. We're out the way, the food is cheap, shit's open late, and people just seem less serious about themselves (I think this area is predominantly Middle Eastern/Central-Asian).
Ate a sandwich along my crazy march. It seems the French sandwich philosophy isn't quite like the American. In the US we generally deemphasize the bread--you know, you can have your pick and maybe sometimes it's some frilly bullshit like honey oat taint sweat or whatever, but a sandwich isn't a sandwich if it isn't bursting at the seams like an overdue pregnant woman, too big for your mouth like... hmmm... I don't know, some sort of thing that you wouldn't want in your mouth... like a dachshund (apologies for the guttural spelling)--the sandwich I got was a heavy motherfucker, which surprised me a bit. It was, essentially, half a baguette (the king of white bread!) with a few thin slices of meat and cheese and a liberal slather of mayo. Any excuse I can get to eat a baguette, I'll take, so I thoroughly approve of said sandwich.
So tonight my roommate couldn't book a second bed for me (the hostel is full) so it looks like we'll be homo-spooning... or curling up on opposite poles... or I'll be sleeping on the floor. Not sure yet, I'd prefer the floor but there are eight other people in the room and I feel like I owe it these strangers to appear a bit inconspicuous... Though, I'm bigger than Special K and I'm confident I could overpower him, so if I'm big spoon... well if I close my eyes and concentrate real hard I could pretend he's just a particularly hairy, flat chested girl. If he'll let me gag him, just enough until he starts sobbing, the delusion'll be easier to sustain.
So I was sitting here in the computer room while he was checking his email (we're sharing a computer ticket--we paid for 24 hours, it was 6 euro, which is divided among my log in/out sessions, going halvsies) and this middle aged dude walks into the room and looks at me. Not weird, you know there are lots of English speakers here and out of boredom/desperation for conversation, we make conversation with one another. He looks at me and smiles kind of... well I don't want to say ''creepily'' because, honestly, he deserves the benefit of the doubt and the right to defend himself against such accusations, but I will say I was most definitely creeped out. ''Hi,'' he says.
''Uh... hi...'' I reply.
And then he continues staring. My eyes drift up to the large TV in the room as I concentrate on him staring at me from the corner of my eye for a good ten seconds before turning around, leaving the room, before coming back in, walking back up to me, walking away, pacing a bit, and then leaving.
This is the closest my cock got to a mouth all trip.
Friday, March 20th:
7:41 am email correspondence:
Last night I had to sleep with K because we couldn't book two rooms here. Because I'm bigger than him (you can't see it but I'm flexing and it's impressive, just take my word for it) I forced him into submission and made him my little spoon (no way was I going to get a peener in my boot-ay). I couldn't help but start easing into a cuddle. When he started getting into it, moaning and cooing softly, I had to ask, ''Are you imagining I'm someone else too?''
''Imagining...? Wait, what?''
10:16 am Forum:
My Conquest
''TAKE IT!'' I screamed, ''TAKE IT ALL!''
''I can't!'' she pleaded, ''It's too big! It won't fit!''
''You SLUT,'' I muttered through clenched teeth, ''you WHORE,'' ignoring her whimpers, her sobs, I forced it into her. Violently. All of it. And yes, it tore its way through, it had to. She wasn't built for me so I had to rebuild her. I had to wreck her. I had to flush three times.
I was constipated. How long? Too long... I won't go into it, I won't share the horrifying details, but when my bottom half started rustling like a black thundercloud, easing its way from over the horizon, I knew it was time... I was prepared, I'd been prepared for far too long, and now sweet relief was upon me. It burst out of me with violent energy. My knees quivered and my cheeks blushed as I bit my bottom lip; I was the spitting image of a shy school girl, elated, speechless, overcome with emotion--like something out of a Normal Rockwell painting--by the tremendous shit she was taking. I praised Jesus, I counted off the Greek pantheon and thanked them all, I said my Hail Mary's, and when I was done, clean and fresh and bright eyed, I winked at myself in the bathroom mirror, exchanging compliments with the man staring back at me, noting how slim he looked.
Boner? Boner?! Boner!
Saturday, March 21st:
8:25 am email correspondence:
Last night K and I dicked around the Louvre, looking at random paintings and sculptures--among them the Mona Lisa and the Venus de Milo. We agreed that we didn't particularly understand why these two pieces are such marvelous spectacles when there are other works, by the same artist or by contemporaneous artists (I don't think anyone knows who made the Venue) which are just as good, if not better. I concluded that they were like the memes of their time--the Mona Lisa was the lolcat of the 16th century... which I guess says a lot about how culture has gone to shit (if PolkOut weren't enough of an indication)
There were all these paintings of Jesus, porcelain skinned, brown haired, hanging out with his buddies, wearing traditional Roman garb, doing traditional Roman things. Like he was buddies with the Romans the whole time... there was one painting where it was this big hall with twisted pillars, a menorah in the center, and this dude dressed as the pope circumcising Jesus. Like the painter acknowledged that Jesus was Jewish but all he knew about Jews was, ''uh... they cut their dicks, right? And, like... there are candelabras and shit... right?''
I thought the imagery was pretty fucked up, considering what the Bible really is at heart; whether or not Jesus actually existed (which is a pretty contested claim; the evidence is specious) but the Bible is, or was back when its original authors got through it, a tool of dissent. At least that's one possible rationale; the accounts don't have to be consistent and the elements need to be fantastical because it was an age when the masses didn't read or write essays or grand philosophical treatises; there were intellectual debates, sure, but how far did that permeate into the mainstream? Fables and stories were what conveyed concepts, through anecdote, and the Bible was no different. If you read the gospels you see some pretty blatant criticisms of organized religion, of organized Judaism and its strict ritualism and de-emphasis on personal spirituality. That's really what the Bible is all about; it's not ''believe in Jesus and be saved'', as a lot of people preach it nowadays, but rather ''find salvation on a personal level''. It's meant to be intellectually intimate. And then what happened? According to the narrative, the Romans captured him and killed him in a pretty gruesome way. Fast forward a few hundred years and the perpetrators (who, at this point had stopped asking questions as to whether or not Christ was real and accepted that they, or their predecessors, had more than likely killed him (though they preferred to diffuse said responsibility)) have written themselves into the fiction; yeah, Jesus was our buddy, we were really close, went fishing all the time. And this spiritual movement that was meant to undermine organized religion and ritualism--essentially the equivalent of libertarianism of its time--is the heart of a vast new spiritual empire, based on precisely that. Heretics are executed, drowned and burned and whatever else they could fathom, but not crucified. That'd be too ironic.
As they started shooing us out at 9:45 (museum closes at 10 because all of Paris, or at least the white people parts, have a strict 10:30 curfew) so K and I started singing Eagles songs together as we strolled out (Take it easy... take it easy... don't let the sound of your own wheels drive you craaaAAAaaazy...'' We felt really American in a particularly awesome way.
And then we walked around a lot, for about an hour and a half, got kinda lost, met some strangers on the metro who just so happened to be our age, American, and staying at the same hostel. I bought a liter and a half of Diet Coke, or as the Europeans call it CocaCola Light, and drank most of it. It's a weird thought... I drink a liter of coke and my pee is crystal clear... the blackness stays in me...
What the fuck, Orangina?!
Sunday, March 22nd:
11:30 pm email correspondence:
We're going to Barcelona tomorrow afternoon, our flight's at 5:50 I think. Yesterday we went to the Orsay, which was stocked with lots of impressionist paintings (which I think are boring, since they're all landscapes of boats in harbors and fields full of flowers, none of which illuminates anything deeply intellectual or spiritual or emotional--they're about as provocative (or even evocative) as the paintings in my dentist's office. Though Van Gogh is awesome because, at least in my opinion, he was a miserable failure first and an artist second, so even those paintings of his paintings that focused on relatively dull subject matter (flowers, his room, etc.) have a wild kinetic element, a desperate sort of humanity that comes through and manages to be meaningful) and a lot of AWESOME romantic paintings as well as sculptures. Romantic paintings are fucking awesome, just crazy scenes from myth and the Bible and whatnot--I'm sure it was like the blockbuster action movie equivalent of the time. Blood, boobs, and mothafuckas gettin' tore up.
We hiked up to Montmartre and then went back to the hostel before hiking somewhere else that I forget at the moment.
And we went to the flee market and I bought a silly looking gnome for five euro, then we went to the Latin Quarter and ate fondue. I felt like a fatty but it was pretty delicious... ''Here are some potatoes, some bread, and some liquefied cheese... ROCK IT.'' OM NOM NOM FAT
Then I took a nap, K went to try and score some weed, I went looking for food and couldn't scavenge anything of much value.
This peach beverage was delicious, but you don't want to know what I had to do for this fucker.
10:45 pm Forum:
So I met this Australian girl and I was talking about this course I took on the Aborigines and how we watched this documentary about how many of them, in the spirit of their traditional nomad/hunter rituals, drive around the Outback, mowing down kangaroos in their cars, and tying them to the hoods of their cars.
''That's not true, they don't do that.''
''I saw documentary footage of it.''
''It wasn't real.''
''Listen, my professor was one of the biggest Aboriginal sympathizers ever, he had no motivation to show us footage that intentionally put them in a bad light; I slept through that class twice a week for an entire semester, I think I know what I'm talking about.''
''Yeah I bet you do, must have done real well...''
''I wrote a bunch of papers and got an A, so yeah, I must've done something right.''
''...''
''...are you implying that they just hand out A's in America?! Now listen missy, you can insult my country, you can insult my people, our history, our heritage, and even our cultural customs, but I will not sit idly by and let you insult the fine educational institutions of the United States!''
''Are you some kind of education-snob?''
''...what?''
''You think, because you go to , that you're better than me?''
''No, I didn't say tha--I was being facetious... I was kiddin--''
''...''
''...I wasn't... being serious...''
''......''
Picasso knew I was going to be out of town eventually, so he made this guest comic submission well before the site went live, just so he could get his stuff out there (apologies for horrible picture quality, I had to stealth the shit out of that photo because of security, like Solid Snake in the first part of Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty).
A pussy eating pussy.... no, the universe did not implode onto itself, but this did happen...
The fabric of space and time tore itself asunder, revealing none other than famed rapper and car enthusiast Xzibit who, in his own poetic way, explained to us this marvelous phenomenon. (Barcelona is full of stray cats, many of whom are total fucking sluts.)
Tuesday, March 24th:
12:52 pm email correspondence:
Hey, sorry I couldn't respond sooner; finding an internet cafe was harder than I thought and this keyboard is lame and springy and the keys are all the wrong size and nothing is working the way it should! ARRGHHH!
Barcelona has been really nice so far... save for this keyboard, forcing me to type very sloooowly. It´s warm as can be, we´re rockin´ t-shirts, K´s got a Hawaiian (aka Acapulco) number on and we plan to hit the beach with some beers sometime this week. A welcome change from Prague´s endless gray skies. Last night we strolled along the coast at night (did you know Starbucks intentionally has wobbly tables to get customers moving faster, I think this keyboard is a similar system, so ignore the typos, they´re my form of resistance against this corrupt enterprise). My Spanish is paying off however they all lisp their s´s here (hola ethath in Barthelona), I asked a cop for directions--imagine a tall, square-jawed, stubbley-chinned man in his twenties--and it was all "necesitath" this and "vath" and "tuth" that. I couldn't keep a straight face.
It's a cultural thing... best not to ask.
Wednesday, March 25th:
3:16 pm email correspondence:
K and I spent the last forty-five minutes trying to find a net cafe, or a decent one at least, we settled for this over-priced touristy place because we couldn´t find that one owned by the Middle Eastern dude that we rocked yesterday. Did I tell you about that? This gweedo-looking guy, Middle Eastern but with spiked hair and chains, kept jabbing me with his elbow as he leaned it over the little barricade that divided computers, I looked over and he was looking at this dating site, IMing this girl whose picture was of her with a toddler and it had a little caption, ¨Looking for a guy to take me ANYWHERE¨ (It was in Spanish).
Polkster's Note: I discussed this episode later with a professor of mine who argued, "Women with children are entitled to personal lives too."
"No, I mean I understand, that's fine and great and fair and all... but this guy was close to my age, looking up girls on the internet, looking up girls with kids on the internet. It's not like he met this girl at the Barcelona weekly bowling tournament, really hit it off, and after taking her out to dinner found out she had a kid, he's picking up women with kids! How is that not weird?"
Oh and this Japanese lady walking down the street looked at me, smiled, I looked away, looked back, SHE WAS STILL SMILING AT ME, I looked away, she was ten feet down the street, STILL SMILING. This woman would not stop staring at me. I wondered whether or I possessed some sort of crazy sex appeal that was particularly effective on the Yamato people (kind of how white people particularly like sushi0 but then I realized I was wearing my Tetsujin 28 shirt, which I guess is an unusual thing for a pasty fucker like myself.
When it comes to child rearing, the Spaniards are pretty strict. Kind of surreal to see a bunch of eight year olds in a chain gang, singing Old Man River.
Thursday, March 26th:
6:10 pm, email correspondence:
K and I bought 40´s, sat on the beach, and drank them. We sat for a good hour, maybe more, staring out at the ocean and the sky. I am still quite drunk.
K commented, "As gay as the French may be, this lisping takes the fucking cake." Sperm! graffiti didn't do much to help my cause.
Oh shit, we just misplaced it.
The Axis Powers only lost because we had all of space on our side.
Saturady, March 28th - Sunday, March 29th:
Polkster's Log:
I smacked my face pretty rough on the glass of a revolving door because it was all weird and inverted and a fucking mess of a goddamn door. I'm not bleeding but I've got a bruise on the part of my nose that supports my glasses. My head hurts and I can't stop thinking of Liam Neeson's wife; bump on the noggin, walk away smiling, death. Paranoia's going to keep me awake for most of the flight.
Vienna Log
11 pm: Carbed up at McDonald's on what is apparently France's best McDonald's burger (they're running some best of Europe promotion)--the CBO (Chicken Bacon Onion). I haven't eaten Mickey D's in years and I've had it at least four times this week. This is a damn good sandwich at a reasonable price, hell, it's supersized my cock (into a boner).
11:15 pm: Train ticket machine did not work, regardless of how hard we jammed our cocks in it. Went nuts for a little bit. Friendly Austrian man helped us out in the nick of time, elevating Official PolkOut opinion of Austrian people from low-neutral to "optimistic".
(Note: low-neutrality is due to lady who barked at me at information window. That bitch.)
11:47 pm: After fumbling with the map and watch K roll cigarettes for half an hour (he licks those suckers closed like he's eating out an asshole) we've finally arrived.
12:00 am: We've wandered into an amusement park right outside of the metro station. A Shatner-looking guy sporting that trademark sour face, a cigarette in his mouth, and a leather jacket whizzes by on one of those old people scooters. Groups of Austrian teens wander around us ambivalently; not too worried about safety, they all look kinda gay.
12:25 am: Efforts at finding a decent bar to kill time at have amounted to nothing thus far; difficult to discern gay night clubs from proper hetero drinking establishments: "All these lights throw me off... they're all kinda gay looking but could just be how they are around here."
12:30 am: May have walked into brothel. DEFINITELY BROTHEL. Hooker rubbing my thigh... asking what I'm writing, not looking up, pretending to be naive (ultimate defense mechanism against unwanted sexual advances) K finally says, "Uhhh... we don't have much money."
"What do you mean?"
"We... only have enough... for beer."
Hookers are agitated, walk away.
So we ended up paying 7 Euro apiece for two Heineken bottles. I hope K's learned a valuable fucking lesson: ask how much something costs before you buy the damn thing. We've agreed that we need to milk these beers and keep this black lit roof over our heads as long as possible.
There's an overweight, middle aged, bald guy with these thick glasses in the corner talking up a hooker (like they need to be talked up?); he's got a champagne bucket on the table and he looks like the kind of guy who'd flash kids his dick.
K looks at me, "The one who was talking to you was pretty cute... really cute... you know, you could've just gotten blown."
"I don't want to be inside anything so fucking septic, man, could you imagine what's passed in and out of her?"
"I'm not saying you need to be inside her, just inside her mouth. The mouth is already a pretty filthy place."
A man walks in with a bouquet of roses for his favorite gal pal for hire. I have no idea what the hell they're saying so the language barrier serves as a blank canvas of sorts for my imagination.
My jacket (which is suede or something like it--is suede expensive? I only paid something like thirty bucks for this thing...) is covered in white speckles in this lighting. Like a swarm of flies just surrounded me and went to town, jizzing everywhere Japanese porno style. There's a go-go cage, Christmas lights, and a luminescent poster of a naked woman moaning. Note to Self: Redecorate room back in New York.
"It's just fucking dirty, I don't like the idea. Maybe if she sat down next to me, started making conversation, and we really hit it off, in the emotional and intellectual sort of way... you know, talked about videogames and philosophy and Japanese cartoons, really meshed as people, and we had that little spark... yeah, maybe then I could pay her for sex... but I don't want to feel cheap."
One of the bored hookers (cuter one) has whipped out what looks like a Nintendo DS and has started playing it. Those things really do have mainstream appeal.
1:20 am: We've left the whore house, I've pissed in an ally, and we found a bar open 24/7 with twice the beer for the brothel price. It's crowded and kind of multicultural, like a Sesame Street skit only with too few black people.
1:40 am: I'm passing time zoning and out and creepily eyeing Austrian girls. You know, I've got to confess, I'm the kind of guy who really looks at people. On the subway, in the street, I make eye contact with everyone. I enjoy it and it's certainly not sexual (well, not always sexual) but people still tend to get creeped out. Like I'm picturing them naked or formulating a plan to knock them out and fuck them in the ass in my sex dungeon and/or van.
2:05 am: The bathroom floor is sticky. Despite this, and the dude's making out in the front, the lack of glory holes and strangers propositioning me for anonymous sex leads me to believe this is not a gay bar... or maybe I'm just losing my edge.
3:30 am: On our way to McDonald's a drunk chick from the bar approached me as K was pissing between cars and started rambling at me in German. I nodded and smiled and she walked away--I like to think that it was a confession of love struck admiration or her suggesting a quick and dirty little hump around one of the darker alleyways, but it was something more along the lines of "I can smell my own menses!" or "Birth control makes my anus leaky!" Because that's just the sort of luck I have--and we're at McDonald's now.
4:00 am: Cher's Believe is playing on the McDonald's channel. Another older, overweight, bald, bespectacled gentleman is sitting nearby, eating a burger. He's got a huge crack across one of his lenses which, considering he's some random guy eating a burger at 4 am, must be a good story. McDonald's security informs us we have to leave because they close at 4 am but now it's actually 5 am because of daylight savings time... victory! We've lost an hour of not sleeping!
6:00 am: McDonald's is open again! Joy! We have spent the last hour sitting in the dimly lit park across the street, thinking up dirty alternate lyrics to that one Coldplay song:
I used to Superman that ho
bust my nut into her fro
now every morning I sleep alone
use my fist to beat my bone
7:20 am: Drunk on lack of sleep. McDonald's is out of ice cream. Ebony and Ivory music video, starring Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder comes on... and the morning is made.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TZtiJN6yiik
7:50 am: The return of ice cream! Tasty tasty fun time in my mouth!
8:00 am: We set out to find the bus that will take us back to Prague.
8:30 am: Mission Accomplished.
This also happens to be my policy for giving friends rides.
So we got back to Prague in one piece, I finished my homework (or most of it) and even got to watch a weird Czech movie on the bus called Summer of the Cowboy or something like that. A weird romantic comedy with a lot of completely batshit stuff thrown in. Hell, I'll give it the PolkOut Seal of Approval, why not?
I know my Barcelona descriptions weren't as rich as my Paris ones, a fact due partly to the lack of readily accessible internet access, partly due to the fact that all we did was wander around parks and museums and whatnot, not really doing anything. The food was great though.
Sorry the update's late, I've had assignments due, problems with Photoshop, and my dad's been in town. I hope you've enjoyed this most meaty of rants because it took a damn long time to put together. As always, tell your friends, post on your forums, and do all that other shit I know you'll forget about or ignore.
