Eurotrippin Joint #4

Brown from Amsterdam here, taking in some purple. The sky is blue, the water is green, and the elephants are a delightful turquoise. The people are white but are only as tall as my thumb. My thumb however is the size of the mooon! I hope to traverse the canals soon perhaps riding atop a pink unicorn. And at some point, have a run in with Van Gogh or Vermeer. Maybe they'd be down for some Sun Chips and Hendrix.

Last stop: the airport

P.s. The toilet bowls are oddly shaped here. The hole of water sits closer to the front of the seat. So when u pee aiming for the center like good little soldiers do, the bowl collects a puddle of piss and slowly overflows creating a cascading waterfall in to the actual water hole. It's so absurd to see, kinda like this entry.

Eurotrippin 3rd partstag

Greetings from Munchen, home of Oktoberfest in may. It's official, I'm now guilty of a BWI--blogging while intoxicated. 2 beer gartens plus beer hall makes Boogie Brown a silly boy. I am this close (my index finger is just slightly hoverin above my thumb) to doing my Hitler/schwarzenegger impression in the middle of the train station.

I've also decided that Munich is the equivalent of DC and silver spring, MD but instead if politicians, they have liters of beer. They're so huge I could practice synchronized swimming in the glasses.

I've also decided that women here are also quite large, vertically at least, and often make me feel like a toddler looking for his mom. I wonder if they ever get the urge to pick me up and burp me before u cry and crap my pants.

Final observation, spoken Deutsche sounds straight up evil. I hear two Germans talking and it's like they're plotting to steal the Ark of the Covenant. At the mere sound of "gutten morgen" and I commando roll into the bushes and whip put my beretta with silencer. But in reality, the liters of beer keeps everyone here sedate. The only evil plot there is is to occupy your heart with pig fat and sauerkraut. Mission accomplished.

Until Amsterdam snitches,
Boogie Brune

Eurotripping Part Dos!

Hola chicas y chicos! Greetings from Barceloners, the city that I have officially dubbed San Angelesfornia. If Paris is the New York of Europa just with grand ol´buildings and long phallic bread, then Barceloners is the amalgated west coast complete with crunchy hippies, skaters, sunshine (pronounced soon-she-neh), curious disdain for the spanish language, and wafer-thin women (I´m looking at you Olson twins\hermanas identicas).

So far I´ve learned that the architect Gaudi is probably the root source of the word gaudy because his buildings are the epitomy of that word. I never knew you could make a church that looks like melted marshmallow and a park out of mosaic-tiled reptilian statues.

Furthermore, keyboard layouts are deviously befuddling for American bloggers such as yours truly, El Cafe de Bugi. For one thing, the question mark is not where it should be. If I were to ask questions using the key where that interrogative punctuation should be, my preguntas would like this: Donde esta el bano_ Por que el ciel es azul_ Que el fuck____ Quien es tu padre___ See, messed up. My questions look more like Madlibs. Additionally, there are crazy things i dont understand like ççç¿¿ÑÑÇ¿ÑÇ¡¿

Finally, for a city that prides itself on late night fiesta-ing till 6 in the mornin, there´s a surprising lack of post-club businesses catering to the liquor-induced hunger pangs of many an adolescent partyer, un fiestero if you will. I could sell uncooked slices of spam served on a toothpick, and easily corner the market and amass a small fortune. I could also do the same selling used bathwater in large orange cups that are actually my used sweat socks. The thirst must be quenched in Barceloners!

Onward to the damn of Amsters!

Eurotrippin!

Bon jovi from France snitches! For those that don't parle the francais, that means good jovi from the land of lovers. Aside from mastering the language that sounds like you're trying to talk while your tongue is numb, I've learned a number of fascinating tidbits from our neighborly Statue of Liberty gift-givers. For example, Parisians love their McDonalds and are willing to wait in long lines and shell out 9 bucks for Royal with cheese. See Pulp Fiction for translation.

I've also learned that French iPhone users don't buy unnecessary casing for their expensive handhelds. Instead, they're economical and use a latex condom for extra protection that still allows for sensitivity. I shit you not, the touch screen still works through the lubricated film while protecting the phone from VD and pregnancy.

Lastly, I've learned that Paris is not Tokyo and the likelihood of random bystanders understanding English is far greater. I really can't get away with blurting out random interjections on a packed subway car like "my nipples are on fire!" or "French people fear America!" Fortunately though, my only punishment was to be dressed as an ostentatious clownish Louis the XIV and parade around the Arc De Triumfe on a unicycle. That was fairly tame. What's else you got for me Frenchies?

Onward to Barcelona!

Oxymoronic Peanutty Question of the Day

Lucy: You're only eight years old and you're balder than a chemo patient.
Charlie Brown: Good grief!
Lucy: Plus that wack t-shirt of yours makes it look like your stomach has a giant mouth with razor sharp teeth.
Charlie Brown: Augghh! Good grief!!
Lucy: By the way, do you happen to have an older, wittier brother named Boogie?

I've spent an absurd amount of my young life pondering over this catch phrase of Charlie Brown's. What exactly is good grief? This oxymoron makes less sense than Pauley Shore in a David Lynch movie. (Too obscure? Let's try that one again.) This oxymoron makes less sense than finding a poop in your refrigerator. "How did that get there?" It ranks right up there with "clean coal" and "nice Uggs."

So if Charlie Brown thinks grief is good, does that make him some kind of perverted masochist? Does he say "good grief" in a raspy porn voice? Is that why he continues to try to punt the football knowing full well that Lucy will always pull the ball away right before his foot connects causing him to flip over and land ungraciously on his back? And when he utters "good grief" afterwards, he really means the pain is goooooood.

When positive things happen to Charlie Brown, does he say "bad delight"? "I won the lottery? $1,000 everday for the rest of my life?? Aw, bad delight!!!" "Me and the little red-headed girl are getting married. Bad delight!!!"

Is there any sort of grief Charlie Brown would consider bad grief? Like the polar ice caps melting? Or the last episode of Friends?

And why do we always refer to him using his full name when everyone else is just Linus, or Lucy, or Franklin (token black guy)? Is it so we don't get him confused with Charlie and the Chocolate Factory? It kind of reminds me of Asian people with monosyllabic first and last names--you just gotta say the whole thing.