So Prague is the place it seems. I arrived here a few days ago and began drinking...no really that is all I have done of any substance (so to speak) since I arrived. All I can say is it is a beautiful place with an unbelievable number of stikingly beautiful women...it is almost creepy and unnatural, but in the most excellent way. As for the general stuff, met back up with Mancheese and he is all gusto with da' ladies. Prague is a nice surprise combination of inexpensive and a lot of fun...a nice change from Italy...not better, just different. More from the other side of an absinthe binge in the next day or two...it's still legal to poison yourself here...woohooo!!!!

At this point of the day, roughly 3:30 in the afternoon, I can't even begin to relate how awful I still feel from last nights debauchery. I suspect this was all brought about by being in a city, Florence, which by its' very nature is a bit highbrow and seemingly brings out an appreciation of the finer cultural aspects of life in one. That said, somehow ending up on a pub crawl (I swear to all that I did not pay for this thing, but was swept up in the fury) with some Irish girls and a bunch of the US of A's finest soldiering products...it was fucking scary. It all began as I was sitting in a bar, as I am apt to do from time to time, finishing a drink when the door was ripped off of the hinges, or so it seemed, and in poured this raucous frightening sight. Not having spoken English in a day or so, I began chatting up one of the Irish girls and that began the whole sad saga. When it was clear that I was one of those taxpayers subsidizing their boozing the soldiers all took me in and began buying me shots and beers (that was what they got for cheap for paying for this pub crawl...that and a few semi-drunk organizers there to "look out" for the sickeningly drunk...and there were plenty of those). I can honestly swear that I have not taken as many shots since I was about 18 years old...sweet fuck is Jagermiester bad bad bad shit. I suppose the night became a blur for the reasons stated above, but I do recall having to sober up towards the end of the evening as I joined with some guy from Army Intelligence to keep some psychotic Texan from A) picking a fight for no good reason (big surprise there?) and B) then forcing himself on the drunkest of the drunken Irish chicks. At this point it became time for all to call it a night and I felt confident that I could go grab a bus back to my hostel (about a 30 or 40 minute walk from where I was) without realizing that it was somewhere in the neighborhood of 4 or 5 AM...I am actually not sure, but that is as safe a guess as I can make, and yes, you guessed it, there are no fucking busses at that time. To be honest, I am not sure there is anything on the road then in Florence. So at this point I had two options; pass out in the square on an exceedingly chilly evening only to be awakened by the fuzz at some time too early in the morning, or stagger my exceedingly drunk self back to my hostel and try to keep body, if not my dignity, intact. I chose number two, tightened the straps on my daypack (as I had left the hostel at 10 AM the previous morning) and stumbled, literally, all the way back, where I had to explain somehow that I needed the key to number 52 (saying cinque due over and over seemed to get the job done) and then crawl in to bed and sleep the sleep of the very very very drunk and tired. I awoke, of course, at about 9:00 feeling exceeding ill and walked downstairs to explain to the guy that I really really needed my room for one more night, which he grudginly agreed to, although I hold no ill will assuming that I must have looked and smelled the part of the Bukowski character. I then hauled my pathetic ass back upstairs and slept until about 1 or 2...now I am here, feeling ill, and seeing that the Saints kept Steve Israel while releasing a player named after Earth, Wind, and Fire....what has the world come to?

ahh...mi fa male in mi testa