Donations Wanted, Stuck in Amsterdam, Wire money Immediately!!!

Sorry everyone, didn't mean to make your little hearts palpitate, I know how much your present lives are intertwined with my current well-being.  But I wont pay you back if you already wired the money, I run on a no-refunds policy.  Back to the heart of the matter though (don henley style), about my espionage mission concerning the drunken wanderings of Lisa "dr. evil" Peterson, that ever hateable jew.  I was forced to departure from the tropical wonderland of iceland, where you can conveniently purchase flattened fish chips (literally chips made of dried fish) and look out at a desolate, i mean beautiful, wasteland.  After catching the train from the amsterdam airport, which left at 420 (every train leaves at 420, it makes commuting in this town incredibly confusing, distinguishing the early afternoon 420 from the late evening 420 is a cultural milestone that few natives are ever able to successful travers), I saw a tall, lanky, slightly retarded looking, gentleman stumbling down the street, and, just on a hunch, I yelled, as is tradition, "BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEJ".  To my surprise the lummox whirled about as if being accosted by a copper and lumbered towards me with his arms open in some sort of friendship gesture. 
       Apparently he, in his infinite awkwardness, was hugging me, and for a moment, as we embraced, the world stood still and I forgot that Darfur was happening.  Our hostel was filled with the most irrefutable sorts of people, those type of college age kids who think that gettin 'highhhh' and 'wasted' is cool, not the sort of crowd we were expecting.  There was not any urine present on any of our beds (oh yea Dr. Evil was here too, forgot to mention) and there was a coffeeshop not far away, so it was easy, with but a few deep breaths, to feel like you were at the Garden of Eden.  We saw Anne Frank's house, but beej couldn't get in because the rumors are apparently true that jews are incredibly short, his head kept knocking the priceless ceiling and his arms could not help but collide with unreplacable glass lamps and chandeliers, so I had to enjoy it with the others (some girls whose names are not of consequence, are they ever?) (though their names were actually Lindsay, Jo, Liz and Christina, if I may indulge the audience).  I had never heard of anne frank, or the nazis, or the holocaust, before, but all in all it was a delightful tale involving racial profiling, religious persecution, and laughing gas, a joke factory of sorts.  In order to continue the miles wide smile I had stemming from Anne Frank's heroic victory I ordained that we should commence to the coffee shop.  As a microcosm of the many coffee shops we entered in the following days I will describe this one to those who are not aware.  Coffeeshops, misleadingly, do not serve all that much coffee, only some milkshakes, cheap coffee, and ridiculously bad tasting tea.  So you're thinking, 'well that sounds fucking lame, what square would go to a coffee shop, especially with LISA!?,' well, first of all, shut the fuck up, and second of all, listen here. 

At the far end of the coffee shop is a display that was enough to make the existence of slavery okay while simultaneously erasing the ill-effects of pollution worldwide.  In neat little cubbies, much like kindergarteners store their coloring books, were large, lage boxes of cannabis, weed, dro, hay, grass, hashish, green goddess, God, Jesus, or whatever you wanna call it.  Dozens of varieties existed and there was a detailed menu explaining the nuanced of feelings each one would give to the body once imbibed.  My personal favorite explaination was "unreal...it will be the best feeling of your life," I'd say that was probably an apt description.  After openly discoursing with the 'dealer' you are able to take large quantities for relatively cheap prices back to a table where all sorts of rolling may commence.  Never before have I been so embarrassed as when I failed to adequately rolling a 'joint,' that's what kids these days call them at least, and was called out by the waitress, who proceeced to undo all that I had done because 'it sucked.' 
              Now, I haven't had sex yet, but I doubt it would be better than the dawning of the coffeeshop age of my life, kinda like the Middle Ages after the Dark Ages, no comparison.  The next day was filled with a bizarre adventure involving a brownie, that, unbeknownst to my virgin blood stream, was LACED WITH THE DESTRUCTIVE AND LIFE-DESTROYING CHEMICALS SCIENTISTS CALL THC BUT SMART PEOPLE CALL 'SIN.'  If i had known that the brownie had been filled with such a dangerous chemical, one known to cause feelings of euphoria, extreme happiness, heightened sensation, better discourse skills, social confidence, increased logic and rhetoric, as well as the ability to make one feel like a pulsating laser beam gun, I would surely have refused the shady baked good (not to mention the lack of memory loss or discernible impact on long-term brain functions, such danger).  But, sadly, to the dismay of my puritannical views, I was duped into consuming this sinful good (may God forgive me in his infinite benevolence), and me (and bryan james englebert, hereafter Gumby) went on a journey (with Dr. Evil) that bordered on insanity.  In short we saw wizards, gorillas with axes, men painted gold, other wizards painted silver, a trumpeter painted all silver, a contortionist who put his entire body through a tennis racket while still spinning a glass orb on his head, V from V for vendetta, a 20 year old man with forty pigeons nesting on him, an indian mime, the grim reaper, a green cowboy, walking skeletons, scream masks, oh, and a van full of clowns (this is the part of the blog that is, legitimately 100% true).  I have never been more flabbergasted in my entire life, merely thinking about all this makes me relive mental trauma I never thought I would be able to talk about again, where are you DR PHIL!!!
     Oh, and we also discovered that Dutch bouncers hate Americans, rarely letting us into clubs, women do really stand in windows in lingerie pointing alluringly at everyone who passes (and often a well-gelled 40 year old walks in, only to walk out in 15 minutes looking supremely satisfied, who knows what goes on in there!?!?!!?), there are actually tree houses in the middle of parks where you can roll your first successful joint (i mean watch some stranger), vaporizing bars with volcanos are really fun (again, only to watch people, that shits incredibly destructive to your long-term health), heinekens brewery is a real mindfuck, C5 sativa is the ONLY evidence that God is real, and watching Lisa Petersen eat a burger is just about the most disgusting thing I have ever witnessed.
Probably forgot about alot of sinful, drug-related things I SAW people doing, but that'll do for now.
Tune in next week for - Lisa puking in a toilet all night after merely watching a bottle of beer roll across the ground and keeping up the entire dorm room (which included two canadian girls, who, yet again, looked nothing like terrance and philip, what the hell)

moment of zen: Lisa after one joint

Also - exclusive preview/rebuttal/truth bomb

What (and who) Lisa Really Did in 'Africa'?

No doubt you have all been forcibly coerced to read Lisa's impenetrable, lengthy and dense account depicting her humanitarian mission to the 'malnourished' country of 'Kenya.'  But,like TMZ, I have received the inside scoop and would like to share all the knowledge I have received, briefly of course though, otherwise I'd be like that windbag.  From Chicago Lisa flew directly to Amsterdam, where she stayed in a Jabba the Hut-esque stupor, for the next three weeks.  In no short time Lisa became a smoke-filled sac, incapable of indulging in the normal pursuits of mankind, including walking and eloquent conversation.   In short she developed the ability to constantly, incessantly blow smoke rings into contorted shapes, even the image of Justin Bieber, much like the Smoking Caterpillar.  As I visited all of the local coffee shops the devastation that Lisa had wrought on this peaceful, unaware, town, was obvious.  The owners were entirely sober, their eyes were open and untinged by redness, and the jars of OG Kush, Trainwreck, Ak47 and C5 Sativa were entirely empty, all that remained in ay of the shops were piddling portions of snicklefritz, barely enough to get Zazu high.  Littered over her kingdom, located in the middle of the red light district, were blunts that would probably have even impressed this kid. 

There were no longer any women working in the windows of the Red Light District, because Lisa had entirely usurped the prostitution industry for the entire town.  People were walking in and out of her gaping vagina like some sort of revolving door that holds up a domed football stadium.  Yes, I know this is revolting, but it's the truth, OJ did it people, Lisa did OJ too...more to follow