It’s 1pm and I’ve been sitting in this stupid courtyard, on this stupid hill, in stupid Turkey for nearly 7 hours now. I’m not the first to be suckered by a Turk, and I surely won’t be the last, but I’ll be damned if I sit here any longer. It’s time for action! I’ve been kidnapped into a Turkish film set, and I’m getting out of here, now!
It’s a hot summer’s night, somewhere outside Monterrey, Mexico, and I’ve somehow misadvisedly entered myself into a chili-eating contest. Specifically, a Chili Pequin eating contest. Not like, a habañero, or a jalapeño, or anything you know, bland, no, that would not do. Instead I’ve managed to stuff like 47 of the hottest little buggers ever down my throat, and am now being egged on by a pit-crew of geologists (yes, yes, I am indeed debauching myself on a work trip. AGAIN), to which I say “Bring it! I will destroy your chili-eating record!” I know I’ve said this before, but this can’t end well… Read the rest of this entry
Ahh, it’s that time of year again. Leprechauns, gross green beer, and shepherd’s pie. Lousy limericks and the luck o’ the Irish. Or, as in my case, bar fights, gogo dancers, and accidents in my pants! Yeah, that’s right, it’s almost St. Patty’s Day, so here comes my much-requested Part Two Ending to whatever the fuck happened last year up in Boston Town… Read the rest of this entry
It’s either a sign that your trip is going amazingly or that you’re about to be hauled off to die in a foreign prison, when you turn to your friend about two days into the voyage and say:
“Omg. We just snorted unidentified brown powder up our noses. That we got from a strange man we met on a train. In his house, where we’ve come for lunch, in Morocco. Wtf??”
And she answers: “Yup.”