[Guile]

Hello fellow Deplorables, I’ve been here a while now, and I figured it’s time I contributed. I’ve noticed this subsection is heavy on data sheets and light on anecdotes, so I figured I would try and tie them both together in a little recap of some of my more debaucherous nights abroad.

So recently, Lord Mayor Muff Sniff and myself did a tour of Europe with a small cameo in Bangkok. This thread will be a recap of the tour, sharing some anecdotes, some reviews, and some of our more interesting moments.

Stop Number One… Prague:

As for the city itself, everyone knows Prague. It’s got cheap beer, an infestation of tourists, and an astronomical clock that will trip you the fuck out if you’ve accidently taken LSD laced weed from some nefarious American backpackers, but I digress… This story centers around a two-day bender with Mr. Lord Mayor Muff Sniff in Prague, where we saw everything worth seeing, some things we shouldn’t have seen, and others, which will scar us for life.

So as a little primer for all those travel snobs out there, both myself and Mr. Muff Sniff aren’t the most accustomed travellers. If you’ve ever stayed in a hostel and had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting two dapper, shit talking Australian’s then you have probably met us… More or less. On the plus side, we do love to grab em by the pussy, so there’s that.

Now our bender begins by downing a six-pack of Kozel Beer [You know the ones with the jacked up yak on the label], and trying to game our fellow ladies in our dormitory. Two Ukrainian girls. A statue of Liberty out of ten. A four in Trump speak.

Unfortunately, hello is as much as they could say, and there does come a point where staring with a smile crosses some unofficial line of creepy. Luckily for us, that unofficial point came at the exact moment our a-typical French roommates decided to stroll on in. For anyone who has stayed in a hostel, you will know that a Frenchman is the only person more annoying than an Australian.

Any who, we leave our 1 star palace of luxury and begin to amble through the beautiful cobblestone streets. For a brief moment I thought I was Owen Wilson in ‘Midnight in Paris’ but that just reminded me of Woody Allen, and that reminded me that he fucks his daughter, so the moment was lost.

A few hundred feet later we reach our destination. The Prague Pub Crawl [This was Muff Sniff’s idea. Judge him]. While I didn’t want to degrade myself to being one of those chodes who waddle around from pub to pub with a tour guide, the six Kozel beers had me warming up to the idea.

At this point I should mention, I had lost my dress shoes in a previous location, so I was wearing a pair of second hand, glossy black wedding shoes, a pair of stained sky blue jeans [Who would have thought Czech washing machines are labeled in Czech?] and a plain black T-Shirt. Mr. Muff Sniff was decked out in a bucket hat, baggy jeans and a pimp jacket. It would have been okay if he was a pimp, but unfortunately he’s just a slightly chubby white guy. Upon entering this fine establishment however, we discovered that “Yep. We fit right in. A room full of complete miscreants”. Not a single Fingerhut in sight…

Now if any of you worldly gentleman are ever thinking of heading on this pub crawl [And so far it doesn’t sound great] here are the basics: It’s located about 1minutes walk from the main square, you get 1 hours free drinks, visit 3 bars, and finish at Karlovy Lazne. The big multi-story club everyone raves about.

So where were we? Entered the pub, a real sausage fest and figured we’d wasted 15 Euro, So we did what all good Australian men do… Drink. 1 hours free booze, and we managed to easily pay for the price of admission. Unfortunately, seconds after the free booze hour was up, the women began arriving. Almost like God drove a bus of them there just to tease us at our state of incredible inebriation.

What God failed to realize however, is that Sydney’s draconian nightlife laws had given us the super human ability to hide our liquor well. Years of trying to act sober, even when we were sober were finally becoming useful.

Mr. Muff Sniff was the first to act. He’s really grasped hold of the law “He who hesistates masturbates”. He idled up to a group of six girls. Three sevens, one six, one five, and a warthog. I’m not sure what he said, but I bet it was good. By the time I get there he’s already acquainted and I’m already disappointed. They’re American. We fly all the way to Prague, and we’re talking to fucking American’s.

Seconds later we’re bounced from pub number one to pub number two. A location change. I’m not big on game lingo, but I know that accelerates things to like 2nd date level or something right? [Probably wrong] but I roll with it. I’ve been stuck with one of the sevens, and gone in for the snog. Nailed it. Big league.

Moments later I roll onto a table with three Czech girls. Things are going well until I see Muff Sniff. He’s reached a new level of inebriation that only I can recognize. He ambles up and says “Look man, lets be honest, these girls are a four a best, but I’ve found some real fine honey’s down stairs” [He becomes Malibu’s Most Wanted the more he drinks]. Now it was at this moment that I fucked up. He had in fact found some real fine honeys, and I made the mistake of sticking with my group of Czechs.

Things start to get a little hazy for the next hour, and suddenly I find myself at Karlovy Lazne. I’m not sure whether it was the Absinthe, or just God’s own version of payback, but here I was on level three? Watching some go-go dancer on stage while the American Warthog rubbed my D through my jeans. It was a nightmare. To make matters worse, Muff Sniff strolls in on the arm of this Swiss eight, blond, toned body, tanned. He says his goodbyes and disappears from the club.

So where does this leave me? Well everyman knows that point where it’s late, real late, there is something next to you, emphasis on something, and you wonder… Is it better than nothing? I must have deliberated on this point for a good 45 minutes before I caved and said “Alright”.

We leave the club, stroll across the Charles Bridge and I kid you not, this warthog wants a burger. They say you are what you eat, but there comes a point. I mean… Anyway.... So Ms. MacDonald’s USA finishes her Double beef and bacon burger, and we head back to her place at The Hotel U.

After encountering more crack heads that I can poke a stick at, and at least 45minutes of questioning the direction of my life, I amble upstairs towards the hotel room and delude myself into thinking “This ain’t that bad”. We enter the room, I use the toilet, and what happens next is an act of God.

I return to a glorious sight. The beached whale, sleeping beautifully with a mustache of tomato sauce, and an array of silk linen covering her misshapen thighs, but what’s better: Her friend, the seven is in a bed next to her. She thanks me for being such a gentleman and bringing her friend home. My reward: A hand job for my troubles.

When life gives you lemons… Umm, I can’t remember the analogy, but the moral of the story is: Shit night. Got a hand job. Now Mr. Muff Sniff had a slightly better flag, but this bender isn’t over yet… We both got home around the same time, had four hours sleep and kicked off Prague Numero Due which I’ll detail shortly…