Monday, June 20, 2011

How a Moroccan man accosted us in a Diner and the truth about London's dental problems

Long time no blog you fuckers...mad love yo...

Story time involving a confused Moroccan Pilot commencing now...stories also being combined and hedged with fantastical elements at the same time (90% true in other words, opposite of the Mormon bible is what I mean).  We, as in me, squeegle and that loathsome cancerous tumor that some call Lisa, were eating at a pancake bar, basically Ihop with a touch of class and imagination, hella sweet.  Beej, being a pervert, ordered a pancake with strawberries, syrup, whipped cream, chocolate, some dutch syrup and the hopes and dreams of kenyan children, just because he thought he was man enough for it.  Turns out his stomach has the constitution of Soviet Russia (none), and he quickly vommed up the entire meal, which for him consisted of four or five paltry bites.  After that embarrassing episode, which nearly caused a friendship ending row between us a deranged and putrid smelling moroccan ambled over to our table and sat down as if he has been invited by the queen of england.  He began talking in an odd morrocan/dutch/english hybrid language that resembled ET talking with his mouth filled with cheerios.  Needless to say it didnt make as much sense as he had hoped, and though we continually told this man that we did not speak freaky deaky dutch (or any of the other dialects he was spewing) he continued to tell us, presumably, about how his cat had been eaten by a prostitute, or something like that.  For awhile he somehow got his act together and told us he was pilot for the royal moroccan airwaves and that his favorite songs were 'yellow submarine' and 'dont cry for me argentina' (not making this up children) and said that hag bag lisa looked like 'victoria beckham' (which i think is roughly equivalent to Jabba the hutt in our culture).  All I know is that I hope he never ever pilots a plane that is in the same time zone as me as his brain was obviously more addled than a sober irishmans. So ends story time.

----the beej amongst his peons----
                  After this disturbing incident (the guy also flopped 'it' on Lisa's leg, apparently a traditional moroccan mating ritual, and of course she took the bait and tackled it with panache right at the table) me and Beej finally detached ourselves from the magnetic personality of lisa 'im fascinated with prostitutes because I am one' petersen and traveled on to London, the town of a million ethnicities and no teeth.  Of course beej reserved the hostel that was 14 miles from the city center, because he forgets that not everyone can walk an entire city block with one step, selfish as always.  In between seeing trafalgar square, big ben, some women with cankles the size of sequioa trees, and westminster abbey in all its sinful splendor, we came to some important conclusions about the culture of the United Kingdom - it is completely okay for bald men to wear skin tight purple pants that go halfway down their lower leg complete with chuck taylors, the beer in the United States tastes like swill when compared to the cheapest British beers, there are more Indian people than British people in that nation's capital, causing a severe downswing in the hotness of the country, Australia is like Canada, people will make fun of anyone who is from there without mercy until they are down on the ground crying, and this is how it should be.  In addition double deckers buses are quite scary when they are barreling right at you, no one likes to pay less than nine dollars for mixed drinks there, the symbols for the 2012 olympics look suspiciously like a blowjob ceremony between two consenting males and seeing shakespeare under the stars is a life-changing sort of experience.
----------just think about it-----------
     In other news the hostel that beej and i stayed at continued its steady decline on tripadvisor due to two gruesome reviews that we published concerning its desultory treatment of its occupants.  First of all we didnt realize we had ordered the urine smelling sheets, it was quite the mistake to check that box on the reservation, one I wont make again.  The hostel also failed to make it clear that the only occupants allowed besides us were fourteen year old german students who were obligated to run around screaming at seven in the morning simply because someone commented on their facebook page that there was a Jew in town.  Additionally no hookers were provided, the heroin syringes were previously used, and the world champion of snoring slept in my room, able to destroy civilizations with his tumultuous snores.  Lastly, and most grieviously for all involved, Beej had to share his bed with a troll that resembled the largest corn fed pig at the 2010 Minnesota State Fair.  I guess that wasnt the hostels fault though, beej was just really hungry and knew he could get some good fashioned bacon grease from nelly fourchins and he went for it, because we all know the beej is unstoppable in the 250 lbs and up category.
 

----beej with his prized lady pig, moments before hiring a crane to taxi her to the pussy parlor, as he dubbed his bed------
    Other curious (and curiouser) london occurences revolved around walking down abbey road and searching far and wide for kate middleton's royal vagina, only to be disappointed that she was jaunting around canada with her balding husband.  Bulllllllllllllshit.  Also the rumors about those stupid guards are false, it is not okay to throw handfulls of cocaine in their face, this is not the tradition as reported in many news outlets.  Beej was dismayed that recreating the Red Hot Chili Peppers abbey road album cover (see below) is actually illegal, and right now he is (hopefully) being extradited back to the United States, god bless him and his delicately tiny penis.  He probably shouldnt have smacked that british bartender and screamed 'this is for the boston massacre!', but sometimes ardent patriotism gets in the way of sound logic.
---------what beej did in London, I wouldnt advise you follow ---------

  Til next time, stop being jealous.

Moment of Zen - an irish man said "there's 14 feet in an inch right?" and we wonder why the english tortured and murdered them for 800 years

No comments:

Post a Comment