server1.hotelmoskva.rs

It's the start of a beautiful new Winter day. The weather's a pleasant 10 occasionally frosted in fog ; I'm on my way to the East which in my case starts with Serbia because... well, fuck it, I love the place. We've walked these streets so many times, they hold so many memories hanging from hidden corners we could do naught but reminesce for an entire fortnight straight.

It's about seven in the morning. There's a gigabyte's worth of footage moving from the camera into the laptop that I'm going to pick and choose among, in a little bit. Meanwhile... oh, by the way, have you ever seen Guido Superstar: The Rise of Guido ? It's a piece of slapstick by and with some Canadian just tryna make it in dis bidniss, hardly worth the mention except for the scene where the coupla (very representative) faggots are disarmed by a guy holding a toilet dipstick ; and for the restatement of VHS America included at the end. Give us your enthusiastic morons, we got six figure jobs and six figure checks waiting for them, every bumbling cowherd's gonna be "a FBI agent!!!" just like that. It's rather an amusing comedy somewhat despite itself, in large part owing to just how fucking ridiculous the remnants of white civilisation meanwhile have become.

Above : outdoor Prague. The stencil is in my estimation rather suggestively truthful, both of how pretty they are and of how well they take to training.

Below : you might recognize the whore storage location. Those'd be my everyday baloons.

Above : nightstand close-up. Nightstand. Geddit ? It's a poon.

Below : Who needs seven keycards, and what do they do with them ?! Should you be aiming for Mars ?

Above & below : sun over the Danube ; I suspect rising.

Above : breakfast somewhere. I forget where, I forget how it tasted -- I mean, I'm sure it was great, since I took a picture ; but I don't actually remember anything about it. I suppose I must've paid for it, though I don't remember that, either. If breakfast is had at a table, can it disappear without a trace ?

Below : juicy bimbo holding up juicy pussy. This is not a misstatement, this is postmodernist notional deluge in a thin context sauce, what the deuce!ⁱ

Above & below : pre-orgy luxury luxuriant among throwbacks from a time before. It's a thing!

Above : artichoke and salmon slab breakfast. Mmmm...

Below : I don't even remember what they're up to! The penile item on the platter's a Karađorđe mač, which I ate. Gotta eat something, you know ? Schiavonesca ftw!

Above : lamb slowcooked in a cast iron pot, a delight.

Below : You're not expected to understand what this is.

Above as below : naked sluts being owned at Go. This might be a first online, huh. Have you ever before seen nude women photographed with the tailings post-loss ?

"And tell that bitch she'd better be done when I get there!"

Did you know Serbia had a Nobel prize winner ? No ? Neither did I.

But are you surprised he looks exactly like the four-eyes dork who'd get such sad pantsuit accolades ? No ? Me either! Anyways, this hotel was the favourite of pretty much everyone with a clue, back when the world still contained some. These days, it's just me and a buncha Russian-speaking losers, huddling together in the hallway to "surrepetitiously" shoot phone footage of naked whores going in and out of my room. Practically just as good as manhood, don't you find ?

It's a sad state of affairs, the entire female population outside of my apartments consists of shriveled up old cunts that very much DO NOT BELONG HEREⁱⁱ, while all the juicy young cunts are... well actually, there's this "Pink" TV channel here, which runs a dumbass show, thirty beds in a room, a selection of twenty-something faggots and twenty-something young cunts. They sleep there, they do whatever, occasionally change in a corner sorta-kinda showing a side of prime D tit for a glimpse.

Whole fucking thing's broken, yo! Kick the dumb old cunts out, take the young cunts out of the fucking storage and sit them down in the posh hotels, you hear ? Let the "careerwomen" dwell thirty to the room on some channel we can just collectively tune out, and let the teens get lip blisters and permanent forehead buckle marks from all the public blowjobs in their stead! There's really no further need for any "state authorities", "commissions", "conferences" and all the rest of the fucking spurious circus conveying taxed wealth away from its owners into the hands of these offensive wanna-bes. They don't do anything useful, let alone interesting, time to get back to the basics.

Power to the pisi! Si osoiu'...

By the way, to my mind the principal salient feature of the Mughal empire (the thing whence your "mogul" is derived ; and the thing off whose receivership Britain financed its spurious pretences to relevancy a coupla extra generations) was that they had women topless as a regular courtly feature. You had to tit out to be someone with them, which strikes me as eminently reasonable.

Needless to say, we did enjoy the spa. It's tiny but quite pleasant, and one useful feature of the spurious old cunts is just how easily my sluts scare them the fuck off.

Doin' da Leyla Black practice spot.

Above : this is my bed. Isn't it hugeⁱⁱⁱ ?

Below : this is my cunt (well... metaphorically speaking). Isn't it tiny ?

This is a drill with a head (among other drills). It's the only portion of the Narodni Museum we got to see, because their "security" idlers were such fucking obnoxious overbearing idiots, I left yelling I'ma go see a museum in a nicer country instead. In fairness however, unlike the fucked in the head Romanians, who self-evidently deploy their own, home-grown idiocy, these misfortunates just bought a package the pantsuit sold them.

As the man said, "zis culd bi biginin of biutiful frenship".

The steak and trims as mentioned in the logs. That 45-days aged steak cooked point bleu was so fucking great, I'ma go have another.

Ta-da!

1. No, we didn't buy that. We bought various vibes, some soft dildos and... that'd be it.

   It wasn't a huge outlay, a few benjies or somesuch ; but the produce turned out to be... well, basically not very good. There's no objective, physical or technical complaint, beautifully modled silicone jelly and well engineered electric engines, all sorts of clever tricks (like say magnetically-supported charging coupling, so there's no plug, just smooth metal bumps on the outside) reflecting a well-reasoned, experience-driven approach to manufacture. As far as the positive sciences of making things they're as fine artefacts as anyone ever saw, and I'm sure as fine as I could myself conceive.

   Yet... I don't think they got two hours of use altogether, and those come from the coupla instances where I mandated it, through ordering they be brought and tried in ways and manners. It wasn't my idea to buy the things (not that I had any objections, I happily went along with it), but as it turns out they're just... I dunno, not that fucking appealing, I guess. After the novelty wears off there just doesn't seem to ever be much demand for them.

   Isn't that unexpected ? Yet it's true, there they sit, undisturbed as the days pass them by. Maybe they're more useful for women who aren't in love, I don't know. [↩]

2. Oh speaking of which, Florimund's bra trophy eventually did fall off, did I mention ? [↩]
3. Let's say it "comfortably sleeps five", like the airbnb scammers. At least we'd be proceeding from experience rather than wishful thinking and assorted "I don't see"-isms. [↩]