Life on the Wild Side, Holland Holidays, Part One.

This holiday in Holland is really nothing for retired old couples and alike (unless you opt to sit in the Canal boats in Amsterdam all day long). Things here are, as expected, non-stop wild 24/7. A typical day consists of the following: first wake up from the alarm clock at 9.30 (with alco headache and ciggie throat), since we made a promise the other day to go down in time for breakfast the next day, before they stop serving the powder-milk, dry cheese and plastic muesli in poorly washed plates and coffee stained glasses at about 10.00.
When we've enjoyed their culinary masterpiece, we drag ourselves and our over-full stomachs up the evily slopy stares, over and over annoyed by the cheap Rembrandt copies on the walls, as if they think their little overprice "hotel" in the middle of nowhere deserves to be decorated with his works.
On the second floor, key is inserted, door is opened and our lazy bodies crash with force on the dirty little beds, where cheap wine bottles and half-eaten bananas lay littered across our sleeping spaces (did anybody think this was a gay vacation?).

Wanna know what happened next? Stay tuned (or high, whatever), I'm not in the mood to write anymore, the Pink Floyd music echoes to loudly in my mistreated elephant ears, and I'm out of Lithium or other addictive substances. Your loss, bye.

I'm going home tomorrow :(

Liberal's Nest

Monday, 2nd July, today I´m going to Amsterdam (yes, you´re right, I am about to turn this blog into a travel diary). Flying with the best of the best, the SCANDINAVIAN Airlines (although the danes and norweigans are being slowly but steadily outmaneuvered, all due to my hard work). My only hope is that when I´m sitting there at the airport, with my spirit already in higher spheres and my special part in the red light district, that those greedy (or underpayed?) pilots and flight stewardesses (what a contrast to the hard-working, immaterialistic CEO's and shareholders, huh?) decide to do a little striking, maybe just out of boredom.
If that happens, I have no idea what to do, except start crying like a baby who had its lollipop snatched, and maybe call someone down there to go get me, because, damn, I am going to Holland one way or another!

Where´s my bitches?

Dublin Mate!

I know my love affair with alcohol is probably as poorly concealed to the public as the romantic relationship between George W. Bush and Tony Blair, and the truth is, it was getting a bit out of hand (the drinking that is, although I heard Tony is leaving his post shortly).

And being the responsible and mature person I have come to be known for,
I figured I´d better take some time off, really sober up and then return a new man, completely in charge of my life (nice excuse for a little vacation, huh?).

Now the only and hard question was, where would my days in rehabilitation be spent?
I first thought of staying at home, but with four cupboards (counting only the supplies in my room) filled to the maximum with Absolut Vodka and Swedish Punsch (all "legally" imported from Poland, I would never afford the prices here, despite the CEO salary I earn as a mailman), I realized that the temptation would probably, even for a strong-willed individual as myself, become overwhelming.
Or, to quote Oscar Wilde - "I can resist anything but temptation"

So I figured the Republic of Ireland, famous for its stunning nature, friendly people... and eh, manic Guiness consumption would prove an ideal fit for my recovery (this was BEFORE I heard about the Temple Bar Area.
Luckily for me, I knew some people over there, so I simply packed my bags and grabbed the first flight, convinced they would be more than delighted to have me show up at their door, giving me their best room and breakfast in the bed every morning (and some lovin').

However, a rather unpleasant surprise awaited me... instead of being welcomed as a king coming to claim his throne, instead I was chained in the basement (apparently my patriotism was too bloody annoying... no idea why), and after they found out about my drinking problem (through torture) I was forced to inhale copious amounts of alcohol. It was completely against my will that Berenburg bottle after Berenburg bottle was pressed to my mouth and the 40%, dutch content processed by my liver (the Żubrówka sessions are too traumatic to talk about).

I was actually let out of the basement and apartment at rare occasions though, but only when the sky father emptied his dirty bladder like there was no tomorrow, fully covered by a massive array of black clouds and Thor roaring the heavens with all his Viking aggressions unleashed (the clear blue, shiny-sun weather that Ireland is so well-known for I was never allowed to experience).
And the procedure for going out was always the same; on of them in front, one behind, two on the sides and some really scary semi-automatic pirate gun pressed to my back (I´ll never forget the noise it made when they used it to rob the swedish food store).
I could go on but... tears are so close now (garlic anyone?)



Just kidding, ich liebe Dublin!

The Virtouse Reawakens

I know that the much you have missed me can not be described with mere words, but to everyones happiness (except mine) I can finally say that after almost a year of artistic bohemlife (winedrinking and begging) in the prime (backalleys) of Paris I have made a decision to do what I will probably regret for the rest of my so called life... reuptake blogging!
Now don´t fall of your chairs just yet, as this does not mean that I will be back like in the good old days, when I was more machine than man and spat out a new post every day, it simply means that
from time to time, when you feel lonely and suicidal but lacks that final bit of motivation to end your misery, you can come here and recieve (for a small fee) that little push that will make you pull that trigger or swallow those pills :)

I´ll skip the insult today, suckers.

Stroke of Uncertainty

I don´t know if this blog thing was ever meant for me...
It´s kind of tiring to hear your own rotten thoughts all the time (and even worse in written form), it just makes you wanna do something completely else.
But then another problem quickly arises, namely the one that I don´t really have anything else to do, at least nothing constructive (but then again, writing shit to all you losers isn´t exactly constructive either).
So in order not to increase the suicide and depression statistics in the world even further, I guess I´ll just keep it (or will it have the opposite effect?).

P.S. This post was never meant to be, I really had NOTHING to do, just ignore it.

Job Ad.

I know I´ve said it before, but I doubt my readers (if there are any) are among the fastest on this planet to pick things up, so I say it again: it´s soon time for me to graduate.
Time for me to set free, to escape the imprisonment of school institutions, tyranny and pedantic teachers. To be released from the company of annoying classmates, disgusting food and stupid daytrips.
The hour has come when I separate from those who has always kept me down, kept me from realising my powerhungry and unhealthy ambitions. The power of my mind and soul is released upon the world with full force, so I advise you: take cover.

Or join me! Help me in my evil struggle for world domination, help me to start wars and steal from the poor, bring down governments and crash the world economy.
You can have the honour and privilige of becoming my right hand, and if you´re a woman, you can even litterary take over some of the tasks that my right hand is currently performing.
I know it sounds too good to be true, but YOU can become my little helper, the one who is always impressed by my genious and grandiose plans, or the one who is to blame and thrown to the sharks when something goes wrong. Don´t waste your chance...

You´re either with me, or against me.

Who is your new Idol?

First things first, time to introduce myself:

My name is a well guarded secret, although a little hint is that "J.T.S" are my initials (but maybe even you could figure that out?).
I´m a man/boy... whatever (I take a piss quiete often to make sure I don´t forget) and my age is 19 (last year as a teenager :( I´m getting old).
I spend my hard working days in Stockholm, the pearl and beauty of the Swedish Empire (you are all welcome to visit, more money from tourism is always welcome). On the 9th of June, it´s time for me to graduate from the "gymnasium" (like Highschool, without the cheerleaders... dammit, why didn´t I chose Highschool instead?)
I could tell you about my family, but I feel it is best they stay out of this (no need to drag innocent people into this, this is between you and me).

Ok, now to the compulsory question (remember every time you started a new class in school?)
What do I like to do for fun?
Well, if I gave an honest answer to that one, they would have me shipped to the Guantanamo Base right away, so I´ll just stick to the regular ones.

First of all, I like to drink (the bottle is like a prostitute, it makes you happy as long as you can pay for more).
I haven´t tried drugs yet, but I have this dutch girl who is always "willing" to help me in many areas of my life, so I guess this shouldn´t be a problem either.
Being highly cultivated and intellectual, I also enjoy reading as a way to stimulate my thirst for knowledge and curiousity on different matters (ok ok, it´s only Kitty and comic books so far, but I´m trying to improve...)
Like most other people I also like to hang out with my friends. Most people think differently, but I actually have alot of friends. Here I am going to name but a few: Heineken, Cognac, Vodka, Bordeaux, Norrlands guld, Scotch...

Ok folks, I know you want more but that´s all I´m going to bless you with today.

Fuck ya'll