How Germany got itself banned, and Western Europe altogether isn't all that far behind.

Tuesday, 15 October, Year 11 d.Tr. | Author: Mircea Popescu

As you perhaps remember, we were left mid steak.

Well, let's just finish it, then!

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Now let's go on a tangent.

All my life I always had cunt on call. Even as a tenth grader, you know, my evening phone conversations went like

Pizdo, treci la supt pula.
Acuma-ni ?

Neah, ca miine dimineata.
Ma, miine am teza. La mate.i

De la cit ?
A doua ora.ii

Noa pula.
Io tot as veni sa ti-o sug...

Neah, pe urma tre' sa reprogramezi, sa explici... da-o-n fras. Lasa ca te fut in cur data viitoare si e ok.
Aspru ?

Aspru di tat.

Consider the important parts : it was obvious to everyone that I'm not about to reschedule my mood for their necessity. Inasmuch as I were most likely going to be up by 10, her options stood as either cutting class during term paper or else missing out on liquid brunch. She knew like I knew I'm just gonna call some other teenaged whore off my ample list an' that's that ; and she wanted to be hurt for the memory of it, because sex is what it is, and it goes as it goes. Love hurts, an' it's hard on the knees, and all that ; but as a factual matter everything I do, or think, or indeed are is mere refinement of things already there, fully if only embryonically expressed, no later than perhaps age fifteen. No substantial difference, just further clarification in the exact same vein and naught new besides. Makes for a very boring fellow, all things considered. Wouldn't you say ?

Where is the progress, the novelty, the discovery ? You tell me.

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You know what I mean ? But let's get back to the titular story.

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When I first arrived in Frankfurt, the plan was to stay there for as long as the stayin's good, possibly indefinitely. This may not be self-obvious or even at all apparent in this age of abandoned cunts and ablated cucks, but yes, it is how I travel : exactly like how I live. If I like a place enough, I stay. I can make, and historically have made, exactly that kinda calliii, with places, with women, with cars horses and everything else ; all it has to do is make me like it enough, the upside's uncapped.

I'm well aware that everyone else lives with carefully capped outcomes in all circumstances, "for safety", as fucking if the capped life's at all worth living. It hasn't escaped my notice, nor could it have if I tried, but I must say that if you go to Brno for at most a week, if come high heel or broken water you've got your ticket out of there, it says a date on it, that's it, that is it, you'll be outta there at said timestamp Eldorado irrespective, the proper term for what you're doing isn't "travel", it's "licking boar asshole". Travel's when you travel.

And this goes for everything else exactly the same. Everything. When I'm talking with someone, about anything, everything is at all times on the table, all my guns and all my notions, I can end up persuaded to up and move to Argentina, or to donut a forehead, or anything else. Anything and everything, all the time. Need I explain how naturally I despise, and how necessarily despicable are all the cucks sitting down for a chat with strictly limited notions, conclusions, carefully corked holes ? "For safety", of course, or in Seinfeld's words "men know that they could in principle be convinced of anything ; hence homophobia". And scatophobia precisely equally and just as well, for the exact same reasons, and "religious belief"iv and... have you ever wondered how come discussing the fucking of twelve year olds dun seem to bother me any ?

The sort of dork who goes in knowing full well that "nothing anyone can ever say" can "make him forget he loves his wife"v isn't worth talking to, which is why my whores walk the streets looking for young women, rather than dudes your age. Because yes, as part and parcel of the functioning of human biology, young women will do anything, and the game becomes teaching them thought on that basis.

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But we digress : I arrived in Frankfurt open handed, with a long weekend reservation in hand, from mid-day Thurs till mid-day Monday. As we were checking in I had a thought to extend it, but then I wanted to see first how well girls shared beds and things, can always do it in the morn. Then upstairs, I loved the shower. Best fucking shower I ever took since leaving Caste Popescusteinvi. Why does everyone make low pressure showers, anyway ? What, you think you're saving something ? You're saving on my liking you, how's that for a permanent regret, you had one god and you couldn't as much as impress him.

The girls slept fine, but I hadn't the time or inclination to talk to the reception clerk in the morning. We had shit to do, and then... well... by Saturday evening the plan had been rewritten to "forget about this shithole, rest Sunday, we'll get the fuck out of here Monday morning, eat somewhere on the way, and try Munich again." Frankfurt sold me the fuck out of a sale it had well in bag, how do you like that for mindblowing anti-performance of a rural shithole with unsupported and unsupportable "financial center" delusions ? It's one thing to mock the retarded Timisoreans for their batshit insane delusions of self-worth ; but Frankfurt also thinks itself something it's in no danger of being, and through the exact same process for the exact same reasons ; what now ?

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Well, now we stop for a spell and a breath over chez Oscar (which yes, is very much still standing).

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Cut ice, you see. Not crushed, not trayed. Cut.

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Best schnitzel she's ever had, Hannah says ; and indeed, if I've had better sometime I can't readily remember it now.

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Nor is any of this "expensive" (or has call to be). In a world where most whores earn less than a dollar per performance, because most people live on less than a dollar a day, a coupla hundy's plenty.

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It's a rampage! Ram all the cunts!!

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Giiiij-biiiiiggggg!!!

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Anyways, to get back to the narrative : what now is now we stop in Rotenberg, which seemed like a delightful little town. It was either that or Rubensomething I don't remember, we were confronted with a left-or-right choice coming down the highway offramp, and we went right.vii. The whole little town's fucked because they have one church, and they dug up all the roads around it, so out of their thirty or so blocks, the six you'd most likely try to use are impracticable. And, wonder of wonders, there's no restaurant. I had thought, give the girls a slice of ye olde world, why not, stop in tiny town, go to the diner across from church, eat spatzle or whatever rural Baden-Wurtenburg has to offer, Wurtenburgers.

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Ha-ha. There is no restaurant in Rotenberg. Eventually, sick of driving around among the flocks of heifers with their cuntproduct in tow (holy shit rural Germans have a lot of kids -- and they stuff them all in the road, preferably on unsteady bikes, after making sure no road's wide enough for two oxcarts to pass each other) we asked a group of what in any time'd have been respectable townfolk, some dudes and a woman in their 50s doing some kinda highly pompous social activity in front of a door. "Kein Restaurant", the very excited, and very desiring to help, German fellow with square small glasses on wire frames shading partially a round, happy Kreutz face exactly like what you'd expect informed us, in his remnants of highschool English. "Ist Pizerria, und McDonalds". "We don't really like McDonalds". "McDonalds ist gutt, ja ? Autobahn... autobahn" gesturing complicatedly as to how we'd get back to the place we came from, his face illuminated by the conviction that he's solved our problem : we'll get some of dem delicious McDonalds, yum! Ja ?

Isn't this self-obvious, that we came from the autobahn ? That, perhaps, we drove right past the Tesco / McD / etcetera abomination of a cvasi-mall because, specifically, we fucking hate that shit ? Ja ? The church cannon or whatever the fuck he was didn't think so. The notion didn't even occur to him. There he stands, engaging in ritualized behaviours he long ago forgot either the meaning or even the source of, in a town with a destroyed center he doesn't notice, with no basic function he doesn't notice, swelling the flesh seas. Which he also doesn't notice.

The sheer abandonment of it all is never quite as obvious as it is at the fraying edges. An expensive showpiece of a mall designed specifically for the purpose of being shown will have all the margins carefully sutured so as to not give the show away ; but the reconstructed semblance, made of cheap siding and whatever else was available, thrown down in what otherwise was a disused plot of land / agricultural machinery parking lot does give the show away. They've made themselves a little mall-like here, as close as practicable to the model with their means. What exactly have they replicated ? What did they cut off ? Do you know of a better method to distinguish between what the orcs think essential and what the orcs think incidental than watching what they overboard under pressure ?

Here's what the mall is : the place of abandonment. They agree -- why, God only knows -- that it is no longer possible to have a town. The mall is the place in town where the original requirements of urbanity shall be maintained. Easier to do this for an acre than for a square mile, so for each square mile of abandoned ex-urban space you build a blessed acre of mall, and continue pretending thusly to an urbanity you've long abandoned.

Centuries ago the peasants working the fields'd have come to see the wonderful church of Rotenberg, and bowed their heads under the schloss, quite proudly lifted atop uncomfortably impracticable hills, with this exact message from the respective Freiherr : I can make you schmucks lift rocks all the way up here to make this big a pile, and you can all suck it.

Today -- no more.

Today, the man of the house has abandoned the house to cunts, rats and cockroaches, he's to be found in the den. Today, the town's been abandoned, and I'm expected to go eat at the mall. Why ? Why would I and why should I ? I am not about to sully manhood by interacting with the "den" dwellers as fucking if they were anything but sad, impudent overgrown adolescents, as retarded as insufferable ; I am not about to buy into the pretense at any other juncture, holy hell, the mall ain't enacting a sad shithole into townhood and urbanity, a "career" ain't about to make me respect some innumerate retarded chickie, what is all this paper bullshit ?! Everyone getting "degrees" instead of a clue -- and being scammed in the deal, because I ain't never gonna give a shit.

But why ? Why have the peasants been abandoned to their fate, why've the cunts been given the run of the house, what hatred, what blindness, what impells this sadness ? Why are you no longer owning things, and running things ? What the fuck happened here!

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So, the revised plan : "go to Karlsruhe, we eat there". By now it's past one and we're still looking for breakfast, you realise, in fucking Europe, let's sing along together now, "all day I ride...
the barren wastes...
without a taste of Europe..."

What the fuck! If I was in subSaharan Africa at least there'd be the excuse of all the fucking sand, holy shit. But we're not even remotely done yet : we land in Karlsruhe, which has fucking traffic, because what's a sleepy inconsequential townlet of no impotance even for, if not to reproduce all the misfortunes of urbanity without any of the benefits. You realise that come 4'o clock chimps need a shave just as much as strong, vital men do, if not moreso. Not that they're men ; but the beard, they grow.

We sit down in what looked like a nice trattoria, we're shoed away, with people seated at the tables, by the waiter : they're closed. We spin around, end up at a nice cafe. The evident knockaround girl waiting tables admits to a little English, then explains, with a shade of genuine regret atop a very present feeling of personal inadequacy that makes me suspect she was a whore in her youth, and a pretty decent one at that, thus understands precisely if not explicitly what's happening : they have no 2nd courses to go with our soup, they mostly do cakes and such. I ask for the best restaurant in town, and her sadness only deepens : the good restaurants are closed now, she says. Well, that's too bad for them, this is when I need to eat. Yes, she agrees, maybe across the river, there's the town center. So this isn't the center ? Oh, no, this is the uptown. Five hundred meters, the town center, across the water.

So we leave the Campbell soups untouched along with a tip for her -- seriously now, why the fuck would you do this ? Everywhere we went and we had excellent soup, dozen+ soups by now this trip alone, they cost the same five to ten euros a bowl. Apparently those places manage to produce perfectly great soup ; this place charges seven a bowl, and brings over a reheated can. What sense can this possibly make ?

I have no beef with canned soup specifically. It is, along with ramen for the anglotards, pufuleti-cu-apa-minerala for the rotards, a standard diet, much like dogfood is a standard diet. Specifically : the young cunts who've not yet managed to be enslaved deserve, for their failure and insufficiency, for their eminent inadequacy to this world, they deserve to eat that shit, as a constant, recurrent, daily reminder that until and unless they start throwing their panties and girlihood at powerful men, they're scum, and scum eats scum. This part is fucking fine. (And after they've been enslaved, they eat dogfood for as long as they seem to need the reminder of what girlihood is, and what it begets the dumb cunt afflicted. This part is also fine.)

But the sort of person that cares about the cents eats the shit at home, in the privacy of their sad hole. People who eat out don't fucking want the cheapo bullshit, what the fuck must anyone be thinking to offer girlyfood at any public venue ? Is this some kind of insider joke I'm not getting, what the fuck's going on here ? If I can afford to sit down at the table, it therefore follows I don't want to save, and you bring me real soup, jeez.

So we find the "center" of Karlsruhe, and it's exactly what you'd expectviii : wall-to-wall holes in the wall, would you like some "lava stone" ? What, a grill ain't a restaurant, it's all fast food ? Oh... but they didn't expect anyone'd notice. Which is the problem here, Karlsruhe is a sorta Cluj, all they got is wafflemakers. Would you like a steak shaped waffle ? They'll put the steak-shaped-waffle substance they extracted out of the correspondly labeled storage compartment into the adequate waffle-maker and voila, in the time prescribed the automated unit beeps, and then it's just a matter of carting the assembly line product over to the table. Mr. Tricatel would like to inquire, alles in ordnung ?

And the same throughout the board. Would you like a smoothie waffle ? They'll put the smoothie waffle goop in the adequate waffle-maker, and bring you the smoothie waffle you ordered. There's some things they can do, on the basis of this industrialized process, and they'll do them, if you want, for the exact same money actual cooking in an actual kitchen'd cost. And you don't know enough of yourself to be able to tell the difference, so soon enough they crowd actual restaurants out of the business (not to mention the part where the young cunts and pre-cuck dicklets are way too lazy to learn a fucking trade, so no restaurant ever can find deep enough potential employee pools, adding to the pressure), and you end up with the "center" of Karlsruhe, or Cluj or whatever else : fifty different restaurant-pizzeria-bistro-cafe-bar-blabla, all competing in wafflemaking, all manned by the same exact inept but useless youth, who specifically does not want from this life anything more, nor is curious for anything more than self-identical three step processes repeated again and again and yet again ad nauseam, put the lime in the coconut and shake it all around Africana.

Out of the money wasted on making fifty of the damned places, unsatisfying as they are spurious, one could've had three perfectly fine restaurants, of course ; but then again there's nothing quite as wasteful as the stupidity of uppity plebs they call "our democracy" -- they'll make five hundred thousand introductory ballet classes and not a single fucking ballet hall, they'll build the landscape thick with kindergartens but not a single primary school, let alone highschools, and so following. As Cartman once aptly put it, "help, help, the world's all flat!"

So I banned Germany, we went Karlsruhe-Praga directly instead of any fucking Munich. Nor am I ever going back, unless it's to pick teenagers out of line-ups, Salo-style. There's no further point to Germany, and that's that.

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Now the problem with Prague is very much the infrastructure. Yes, we had a very nice meal in a local unpretentious eatery, among the butch dyke / femme lezzie couple and the half dozen sophomore girlies out hunting in a pack, and all sorta such others ; the goat cheese fondue atop the salad was marvelous, my boar with sauerkraut excellent, no complaints whatsoever, and yes about half price what similar fare'd have dinged in Germany.

However, there's no straight road in Prague.

I don't know if you can properly appreciate the batshit insanity until you actually try and drive a coupla road-exhausted but otherwise brimming with excitement fillies through it all, but I ordered more drives the wrong way down one way streets, U-turns in tunnels over quintuple-uninterrupted markings and other such My Name Is Popescu And Who The Fuck Built This shenanigans in this one day than in the whole year prior. At one point we even ended up trapped at the airport because someone had simply put a barrier across the way back to town and fuck you, either you figure out which random parking lot to drive through to connect or fucking sleep there ; but generally and throughout no single road in the entire city of Prague we ever found during four hours' drive was ever straight. Nine+ left curves for everything, because of no reason conceivable whatsoever, just holy shit their public transportation authority's very much into shibari, they're just following knots for planning.

Yet that's not the biggest part of Prague's massive infrastructure problem. They have no hotels. It's not like we came unprepared (even though we did nothing in the originally sketched order, nor did anyone know we're headed to Prague as late as when we left Frankfurt the same very morning, nevertheless the Roadmaster General had whole notebooks' worth of notes at the ready, and thereby yes could produce to my standards, which is to say "right now" lists of Prague ApartHotels, with directions, which does not mean "maps", it means directions, specifically from anywhere. Because that's the fucking standard, military grade, "you tell her when to turn and which way no later than when she has to", I don't fuck around. How's your family camping trips go by the way, does the stupid bitch ever get lashed for directing you the wrong way around a simple straight line ? 'Cuz one of mine had to eat dogfood and cry by herself for a day over something quite in that vein, and not so very long ago, either.

Anyway, back to the hotels : the Prague aparthotels look well enough online ; but I never book in advance not merely because fuck you, you wanna bomb me you'll have to keep up with the hounds on the road, I ain't giving advance notice to no-one -- but also because I never trust pictures online, as well I shouldn't. No single aparthotel in Prague (of the half dozen or so we looked at before it became obviously pointless) had as much as an elevator, let alone the underground garage that'd go into. All sorta places looked perky-perfect online and sagged out of all recognisable shape in person, Prague's total accomodation catfish city. The only possible conclusion'd be that here "aparthotels" denote pleb boarding houses / "hostels", whateverix, we saw places very much comensurate with Norway's sadness -- though offered at a very modest 40-50 euro / night, still not fucking useful to me just now (or, as I told the bimbo, "when I whore you out you'll live in a place like that").

The uppity retards are encroaching actively, however. For instance : the pimply and unshaved Amir Taaki clone boying the desk of some oh-so-cleverly named "Czech Inn" thing responded to my bill of trade (two bedroom two bathroom apartment) by asking how many people, and then informing me "he will need everyone's passports"x. I said "that's nice", and pointed out I want to hear what they charge and see the rooms, to which he came back with...

No, seriously, guess what this smegmaball said to me, I am truly curious to see if it can in fact be predicted.

He said, and I quote exactly, "we don't do that".

Right ?

Cockroaches breed the environment they live in ; not squashing that retard's why London is such an indescribable shithole today. But anyway, since I'm not turning the girls out just yet, Prague aparthotels might as well not exist, as far as I'm concerned. Except... there's nothing else, not really : all sorts of "name" unheard of hotels downtown, which similarly think it acceptable to have no elevator, no parking garage, no nothing whatsoever. The situation is not much better with the name-names, for instance Radisson had "a garage, but it's not here". Where is it ? 800 meters away. Fancy that wonder! At least they know they're supposed to have the thing, I guess, "that's something" as the expression goes. Is it something, though ? What something is it ?

There's also a tiny Holyday Inn by the airport -- you truly should see this thing, it's so fucking cute it could get lost in a plate of macarons, you might accidentally bite it down by mistake. I've never seen a Holyday Inn this tiny, maybe 50 meters wide ? Surprisingly to some, perhaps (though I'd personally like to... well, not as much to meet them, I guess, as to observe them from a distance -- I expect they're quite as unintentionally entertaining throughout their daily activities), there was no space at the three room airport hotel. No ?!

There's also a Park Inn downtown, which was left unmanned, no doubt in a show of solidarity with stupidity in general and whatever particulars, and well...

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Prague is well on its way to being banned as wellxi, as I write this from my adequately luxurious Marriott-provided accomodations in fucking Brno. Which, incidentally, is yet another thing that doesn't fucking exist in Prague -- in fact, as far as anyone can discern the only genuine hotel there was this large and well appointed NH, which, as the evidently competent reception informed me (the first, and only time I saw anyone qualified for the job behind a reception hotel desk in Prague) most apologetically, was full. I am not surprised though, if you make all that noise about being a travel destination and then have exactly one functioning hotel, you might end up with some congestion problems. But that's okay, right, just make all the roads round, they'll spin around there forever and forget what they were doing.

I'm not fucking kidding here, they have nothing, holy hell what the fuck is wrong with Europe!

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Not to say that the Marriott is not without its warts -- take a look at the other side why don't you ( through glass panes clean to the standards of "other side", yes) :

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Their extremely clever newfangled "oh, the Internet is free" approach doesn't work on this system. It's been a long time now hotels did this dns hijacking thing where first they present you with a page of "terms" or whatever the fuck and then your connection punches through to the actual internet (to their merit, I never had a problem hitting irc, it's not like they limit to www ports or any stupidity in that expectable vein) ; but by now the webpage involved became so very fucking advanced, it probably loads some java or who knows what my travel station doesn't support and... well, that's that, Marriott now has no internet, they've recuperated shitholitude through advancement. It's called revolution, right, where you keep progressing around a circular orbit until you finally hit... the point you had started from.

Nor is it all what you'd (mistakenly) call "idiosyncratic like that", stuff that only seems to ever bother me. For another instance, they have heated floors ; but they don't heat the foot towards the shower, so if you're sitting on a toilet like a normal person with your feet slightly apart, one foot's on the warmed floor and the other on the chillingly cold concrete. And if you try and sit with both feet on the warmed portion, you're sitting sideways like a careerwoman that just peed the strip.

Oh, right, this is stuff that maybe bothers everybody, but only I'd think to complain about it. Well, well. We're certainly making progress here, I see it, I see it.

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The proximate cause for all the untenable agglomeration : "carrerwomen"/stupid cunts going about on government scrip / letters from Hitler, filling up the hotels without paying a dime (which they couldn't afford anyways). So thus it comes to pass that I'm the only gent in a suit, and the only gent with two serving slaves, and the only gent in general at the Marriott ; everyone else's in jeans and zara outfits, buncha poortards. WHY THE FUCK DO YOU KEEP PRETENDING!!! God damned cockroaches, nobody is in any danger, not the slightest most remote danger of taking you for anything but uppity fucking scum, holy shit already. Go back to your holes, the sunny meadows ain't for your ilk!

Oh, and speaking of which -- context for the latest Trilema header, the de-braing mobile (no, it's not theirs ; it's spoils of whorxii ).

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Ah, wonderful world, that hath such wonderful strippissers in it!

———
  1. There's a significant difference, you know, between "Miine am teza la mate" and "Miine am teza. La mate." Ie greu la mate, noa, ce sa le faci. []
  2. School in Romania was very stable at the time, 2nd period always meant 9:00 to 9:50 in the am, universally for everyone, cocksuckers and bois alike. []
  3. Originally, this read "that type of decision", but I took it out. Because it ain't no type o' decision. It's a kinda call. []
  4. Did I mention how my Arab friends had serious problems with my systematic atheism on the grounds of "but what keeps the atheist from doing bad things ?!?!" []
  5. Which is why Tarantino puts that in Pulp Fiction, he's making exactly this point, Jules is a man who can be persuaded, and Jimmy is a cuck, who can't be. Specifically because the functional penis will get up with presented with what to get up for, but castrated penis will never. See ? []
  6. Cute fucking name, innit. []
  7. It turned out it was wrong, of course, but at least it was no fucking left, aite ? []
  8. Does that portraiture work remind you of anything, by the way ? []
  9. I expect you know what I mean, cheap pressboard furniture broken here and there, tiny rooms, ad-hoc bedding, "efficiency living" for the poor. []
  10. Something nobody does, by the way. Not even fucking Marriott had any issues with my storing a small herd of exhausted, barely dressed whores in the two rooms rented under my very own name. Because why the fuck should they! []
  11. Spoiler : hasn't happened yet, because after a short regroup in Brno intel did manage to drag out, scare up & coerce a (most comfortable, as it happens) hotel to stay in, which is where I'm quite pleasantly seated right now, adding the finishing touches on this ever growing humongopiece. Still, it came pretty damn fucking close, if it weren't for the magic of the WoT it would have very likely happened, and pantsuitistans dun have WoTs. []

  12. Daddy, daddy, why do they read "war" like it were spelled "whor" ?

    []

Category: La pas prin lume
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4 Responses

  1. > It was either that or Rubensomething I don't remember

    Found it! For great credits Rauenberg jpg. If only you turned left, you would have found a grand restaurant & hotel.

  2. Mircea Popescu`s avatar
    2
    Mircea Popescu 
    Thursday, 17 October 2019

    Nice going, that's exactly it.

  1. [...] for the barrack ? You know, that place where they go, to play, with their toys ? Is it, perhaps, Whor ? [↩]At some point in 1668 the canaille went out to "tear down bawdy houses" and "confine [...]

  2. [...] Where's Frague, you ask? Why, it's where you are when you've landed in Prague after trudging through Frankfurt, so your fun's all fraught with frustration. Frankfurt was going to have been a pleasant stop on a long list of German cities to be visited, starting with Munich and ending in Berlin, but moving through the country revealed insurmountable social problems; the kind that make even a few days' stay untenable. That we stayed in Frankfurt at all was largely due to the need for some rest, as rejecting cities one after another can really take it out of you. For my part, the rest mostly consisted of surfing the metro system to hunt for nouns (you know, people, places, and things) and reorganizing logistics to focus on the Czech Republic instead of Germany. [...]

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