Dispatch from the European Front vol.2

[Efrim]

"After the first glass (of Absinthe) you see things as they are. After the second you see things as they are not. Finally, you see things as they are, and that is the most horrible thing in the world."
-Oscar Wilde

So there we were, Douglas and I that is; sitting in a poorly lit bar in one of the least attractive Paris sidestreets. This is a place that is totally out of step with the refinement the French so pride themselves on. They are (rightly) ashamed of a place where their citizens are no more cautious about public urination than the average inhabitant of say New York or Tacoma, Washington.

Bars in this street are frequented only by the extremly down and out. The customers that pay the overhead of such a place are lunatics and two-bit conmen, 50 year old aspiring poets and unloved street performers. In other words, a perfect place for a recruitment drive. Perfect though it was, bussiness was far from our minds that night. Our only expectation of the evening was that it reach a level of decadence suffcient to make any bohemian blush.

So far, however, it was off to a slow start. We were waiting for the damn to break and we were getting seriously sloppy in the meantime. Douglas had demonstrated amazing feats of capacity through consumption of Guiness as was the law of his people and for my part I was nursing my latest concotion: the Absinthe slushie. And yes, it does take quite a bit of illogical yelling to convince a bartender to top off a plastic big gulp cup. Absinthe has been illegal in France since romantic poets started dying from it at epidemic levels, but I can hardly see why. Fuck, that makes a great case for the virtues of the drink, I'd say.

I should tell you a bit about Douglas. Douglas is a learned man. Irish to the bone, he has a highly prestigeous and genrally useless degree in Irish literature. I had met him two days prior in another bar. He was easily recruited; after I listened to him talk about Finnigan's Wake for 10 minutes he decided I was good people. Douglas is about 32 but due to his tense personality he is already gaining sopts of grey in his red hair. His fine guiness gut hides a powerful body good to have on your side in any fight. He has a nasty temper that prevents him from holding any stedy employment, which he would have as he has fine english/french translation skills. He has a strong desire for chocolate hazelnut ice cream at all hours of the day.

All of this will later become relevant, except for the ice cream bit.

Douglas had struck up a conversation with two throughly destitute Englishmen who had been trapped in Paris due to a cruel jest of the Easy Jet airline company. They were talking about whatever it is people from islands in the northwest of Europe talk about. I believe the English were concerned about their Soccer team, Leeds. I was ignoring them. I had my eyes fixed on a beautiful girl in the corner with long dreadlocks (which has always been a weakness of mine). I looked around at the old men and wondered how such a creature had stumbled in here. As I continued to stare she smiled at me. I smiled at her and continued to watch as her smile grew to the edges of her head, at which point her jaw and skull began to melt into a horrible mixture of flesh and light, it was at this point I realized was looking at a light bulb in the far corner of the room.

As I was throughly enjoying my slushie I heard words so foul that they immediatly pulled me back to reality. One of the Englishmen had reached a state of intoxication suffcient to make him forget something as basic as the boarders of the U.K. and said, "These bloody fuckin French....Can't deal with them at all...damn good thing we're all Brits"

Oh no. You see, the poor fool had included Douglas in his statement and there is nothing more upsetting to Douglas than Ireland spoken of as if it was under the umbrella of British authority. Perhaps on another night he would have let it go and realized that it was simply drunk talk, but Douglas was looking for a fight that evening. He responded with a comment suffcient to break the damn I earlier spoke of.

"Leeds is fucked. They Don't have a prayer. One week from now they'll be out of the premireship and I say good riddence...they all deserve it.

With that, it was on. Stupified French stood baffeled and horrified as two Brits jumped the Irish man, knocked him down and began laying into him with horrible kicks to the stomach. Before I could even react I watched as the reincarnation of William Wallace rose up from the floor, tossing off his British attackers. Usually Irish are not a threat to outsiders since they have a nasty habbit of fighting each other, but this one was all alone and about to do something terrible.

I shouted encouragment and slowly backed away. I clearly remember donouncing the absurdity that is English breakfast as he pummeled them senselessly. How he managed to defeat both of them is something I am still a bit hazy on. In any event, after he was satisfied he opened a large cut on the forehead of the Brit who had spoken wrongly of Ireland. He casually walked over to the other side of the bar and picked up a glass of vodka on the rocks from a dumbfounded French "artist". He walked back and poured it into the cut. The man squirmed but was unable to bring his hands to his face. After this, he picked up his full glass of guiness and said "This is certainly more than you deserve, but it's the only way you'll learn." He uttered some words I didn't understand and proceeded to empty the glass on his broken opponent.

Douglas then turned to me and said, "Right, this place a bit dull, shall we find somewhere else". I muttered under my breath and nodded. As we walked out I noticed the bartender was still frozen in his spot unable to comprehend the senseless violence that had just occured. Seeing this, I leaned over and snatched the bottle of Absinthe on my way out the door.

What any of this means (if anything) is certainly open to discussion, but I offer it as an example of the madness that swirls all around me.

Cheers

[Trollax]

"After the first glass (of Absinthe) you see things as they are. After the second you see things as they are not. Finally, you see things as they are, and that is the most horrible thing in the world."
-Oscar Wilde
,Ķ
What any of this means (if anything) is certainly open to discussion, but I offer it as an example of the madness that swirls all around me.

Cheers

I never knew Oscar Wilde read the english translations of the mumonkan. Although linking drinking to the state of reality is oddly reminiscent of another Zen Master who's name escapes me.

This is certainly a sign of the way things should be. If someone is being an ass you should certainly be legally within your rights to slap them around or (in this case) defend yourself.

Yesterday evening after a long day behind an LCD screen, some of that time reading up on university disciplinary policy I went into the bar to have a drink and talk to some friends. On this particular occasion said friends were hanging around with a group of people I was not acquainted with. I went to get myself my usual chicken schnitzel and plate of chips and upon my return one of the asswipes sitting at the table decided to also go buy himself the meal I had bought. As he got up he felt the need to stare at me full in the face and declare: "if you take my seat I'll headbut you."

Now. Let us just break this down... No Fuck it! It's a fucking seat, in a fucking bar! A bar that is so busy you'd be lucky if one of your friends stole your seat. If I'd had a shittier day I would have sat in the damn seat and waited for the inevitable. But seeing as how I am fullyu aware that even instigating a fight in such a way on the university grounds could get me suspended for up to a month I decided to shuffle my way through a traffic jam of chairs and plop down in the corner.

If people were better able to settle disagreements with just two sets of knuckles from time to time, this world would be a better place.

I say Pugiliate!

[The Good Reverend Roger]

What any of this means (if anything) is certainly open to discussion, but I offer it as an example of the madness that swirls all around me.

Cheers

This is what happens when you hang out with the Irish.

"Kiss me, I'm Irish!

"Kiss me, I just blew up a police station, I'm Irish!"

[Efrim]

If people were better able to settle disagreements with just two sets of knuckles from time to time, this world would be a better place.

I say Pugiliate!

I agree. The truth of it is that in many places it is a perfectly acceptable fact that in the coarse of an evening of drinking you may decide to throw your friend through a large glass window...This is, however, frowned upon in places like Paris and the United States. This may be our loss.

[Efrim]

This is what happens when you hang out with the Irish.

"Kiss me, I'm Irish!

"Kiss me, I just blew up a police station, I'm Irish!"

Yes, incidents such as this are to be expected, but the severity and speed of it all is still quite shocking. You would expect the violence to be slowed by such a massive amount of drink but that is far from what occurs. It would seem that among some alcohol improves fighting ability immeasurably.

and I think "Kiss me I blew up a police station" would be an excellent slogan to write on a pin for the hardcore anarchist crowd.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

This is what happens when you hang out with the Irish.

"Kiss me, I'm Irish!

"Kiss me, I just blew up a police station, I'm Irish!"

Yes, incidents such as this are to be expected, but the severity and speed of it all is still quite shocking. You would expect the violence to be slowed by such a massive amount of drink but that is far from what occurs. It would seem that among some alcohol improves fighting ability immeasurably.

and I think "Kiss me I blew up a police station" would be an excellent slogan to write on a pin for the hardcore anarchist crowd.

Irishmen ignore anything they cannot drink or punch.

This is a well known fact...indeed, the Irish themselves do not dispute it.

[Efrim]

Irishmen ignore anything they cannot drink or punch.

This is a well known fact...indeed, the Irish themselves do not dispute it.

Indeed. Why yesterday I was talking to another Irishman and I told him that around my home a soft jab in the sholder is a common greetingamong my friends. He replied that they have a similar greeting...a knuckle punch to the groin. This is a fine example of the Irish state of mind.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Irishmen ignore anything they cannot drink or punch.

This is a well known fact...indeed, the Irish themselves do not dispute it.

Indeed. Why yesterday I was talking to another Irishman and I told him that around my home a soft jab in the sholder is a common greetingamong my friends. He replied that they have a similar greeting...a knuckle punch to the groin. This is a fine example of the Irish state of mind.

That's for casual friends.  True Irish friends take drills to each other's kneecaps.

So, where the hell ARE you, right now?

[Efrim]

So, where the hell ARE you, right now?

Prague....behind the iron curtin....ooo...scary....

"The USSR? I thought you guys broke up."
"Yes! That's what we wanted you to think!"
-Simpsons

Must crush capitalism...

[The Good Reverend Roger]

So, where the hell ARE you, right now?

Prague....behind the iron curtin....ooo...scary....

"The USSR? I thought you guys broke up."
"Yes! That's what we wanted you to think!"
-Simpsons

Must crush capitalism...

Prague ROCKS.  I was there about 5 years ago.

It's about the ONLY cool place in that country, though.  Outside of the city, it's mud until Austria.

Make the best of your time there.  That place is about the coolest city in Europe, IMO.

[Efrim]

Prague ROCKS.  I was there about 5 years ago.

Toal understatement. Prague is Uber cool. I mean consider the fact that in this city the finest beer in the world is literally cheaper than water. This place is on par with any other place in Europe. And as good as it is you get the added bonus that you can live like a king here for what just gets you by in Western Europe. I suggest that everyone gets to Prague within the next five years before they convert to the Euro currency and everything becomes expensive.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

I miss Efrim.   

[Triple Zero]

Prague ROCKS.  I was there about 5 years ago.

It's about the ONLY cool place in that country, though.  Outside of the city, it's mud until Austria.

Make the best of your time there.  That place is about the coolest city in Europe, IMO.

Absolutely true. Including the "outside it's mud until Austria" part.

Prague needs to share it's nr.1 coolest city position with Berlin though, I can't decide. I'd rather live in Berlin, but that's mainly because I don't speak Czech.

Toal understatement. Prague is Uber cool. I mean consider the fact that in this city the finest beer in the world is literally cheaper than water. This place is on par with any other place in Europe. And as good as it is you get the added bonus that you can live like a king here for what just gets you by in Western Europe. I suggest that everyone gets to Prague within the next five years before they convert to the Euro currency and everything becomes expensive.

This, predictably, happened exactly as predicted. It's still relatively cheap, but no longer ridiculously cheap.

(outside the city, it's still the same though, they hardly get tourists there)

And the beer, indeed, most places serve Pilsner Urquell which means "the original Pilsner" (ur = first/primordial/origin, quell = source), because basically is IS the original Pilsner that all the other pilsners derived from. Can't get any more plain simple damn fine Pils than this.

And the food. Good, solid, tasty, more than you want or need and always with a big hunk of pork and and melted cheese. Loved the place.