I had a better title figured out but right now I just can't spot it. Isn't that a great header though, all things considered ?
Above : getting ready to go out!
Below : nothing less nor anything else than Vienna's one and only Goulash Museum. It's not very big, and unlike the... fuck, meanwhile I remembered what the title was supposed to be, something with Schlob. That's okay though, I'll use it tomorrow. You know, for the actual Schlob.
O shit! Apparently, the camera's actually managed to go over 9999 pictures again, meaning I have a whole extra directory of shots to process. A well...
Anyway, I was saying : the Goulash Museum! Four generations of Austrian hospitality! They're not even kidding, either, there's page upon page of ever more elaborately complex divine goodness in reduction and quite very pleasant service at your orders.
Above : menus, with helpful illustrations
Below : the meta-illustrated items, re-illustrated directly for your vicarious viewing pleasure.
Above, clockwise starting at 6 o'clock : Klassisches Rindsgulasch mit Kartoffel, Wiener Fiakergulasch mit Knödel, Würstel, Spiegelei und Gurkerl, Kesselgulasch vom Rindsfilet mit Kartoffel and Kalbsgulasch mit Spinatnocker ; or in other words all the veal goulash they had in the house.
We actually went back today for more, so... yeah, I rather recommend the experience.
Below : bitch be crazee!
Above : me reading the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung in the coffeehouse of the Sacher Hotel in Vienna, at tablefull of hos (not depicted, they couldn't fit for all the pretense). The 17yo fuckers seated at the other table (group of 4 incels in denial) were however very bothered by the sluts' antics.
Below : at the entrance to No Limits, Vienna's other BDSM venue. This one's I'd say actually better, more space, more equipment, younger crowd... it's a sort of Mission District versus Manhattan comparison if you will. I was too busy/lazy to take any pictures, but whatever, you can just imagine it all, I had a ball.
Above : kinda cool posters, whatevs.
Below : the Porterhouse restaurant's menu. They don't have a website, so no linkage ; but the steaks are simply phenomenal. I didn't have anything like this since leaving my Costa Rica haunts behind. Definite must try while here though.
Above : all hail das kittenpoppe.
Below : their notions of oenology are a little... well, how shall we put this... Big John. The Wine.
Above : we are looking here at two tenderloins, 300 and 400 grams respectively, one surf&turf, and a half kilo "cry aged" porterhouse steak adorning the middle of the table. "It's dry aged. It's a misprint" informed the waiter ; "I imagined. It's pretty funny" retorted yours truly. "So wait... four things ?" inquired an overwhelmed and yet still whelming waiter. "Yes," came the reply, "we're hungry". Because indeed, often a man and two women ingest four pounds of straight meat in four portions over one sitting.
Think about it : while you're back there at the steak&sheak with the missus in three layers of underpants, tryina convince her to maybe try slightly not well done for just once, I'm out here in Vienna doing all the possible steaking point bleu au pair. Is there any fairness or justice in this world ?! The waiter absolutely didn't think so, but he kept his fluster to himself and delivered to the Caesar what properly goes with the Caesar (seen below).
Above : spurious realtor window shot. 4 mn euro, yes, but 470 sqm, also. Nobody yet lost money owning real estate in Wien 1010, as it happens. Not even during the days of Suleyman.
Below : we went to check out this supposed anarchist bookstore.
Above : unsurprisingly, for all the pretense... it's fucken closed. And abandoned. And hardly worth the mention.
"Fools and tools of fascism" bitch ? Gimme a fucking break, how about the shockingly moronic pretenders, "feminists", "anarchists", cucks in whore warpaint &c ?
Anarchism with a timetable, fancy that wonder. I'll start taking the pigeons seriously before this sort of idle schmuckitude digs itself back up, what the fuck.
Below : celebrating the defeat of antifatardation at the hands of all-victorious capitalism uber alles, with some fine exploitation products : dolphin adrenal gland paste in panda tear sauce and a smattering of sliced African clitori for effect.
Non-black African cunts only, though, I don't want to have to keep checking my wallet.
Above (as below) : remnants of make Europe great again, an incredibly popular movement of the 1700s.
And in closing, here's a simple and intuitive means of evaluating your bed. Is it wide enough such that you can store the whores ? Is it wider than they are, arms outstretched ? If yes, congratulations, you've got a bed. If not...
stop being fucking poor already.