Setting the Record Straight

If you have been reading recently and did not notice anything awry, then shame on you. A few weeks ago I placed a post entitled All Hail Our Glorious Chinese Masters, a personal oath of allegiance to the reprehensible People’s Republic of China. You should all know by now I am a patriotic, gun loving, bumper sticker donning, war hawk, obese American through and through. These colors don’t run, baby.

The sheer fact that not one of you saw through this façade and rushed to my help is disgraceful. The anger stewed inside me and I thought of posting pictures of Sarah Jessica Parker to torture you.

I only have one carrot. Decisions, decisions. 

The fact of the matter was that three Chinese men were using me to try and corrupt the American psyche and held me against my volition. Little did they know that because few can handle the truth that spews from my orifices, only a select dedicated group of intellectuals read what I write. This was the first flaw of their plan. The second flaw was a cultural mistake. The ropes they used to restrict me may have been able to secure a Chinese man, but not this American behemoth. As I stomped their faces in I felt oddly like Gulliver, if he had gone on a whiskey-fueled rampage and smashed all the tiny people he met in Lilliput.

Thanks for ruining a good story for a generation, you fuck. 

So in order to restore my reputation as a man of national pride, I will now explain to you why you never have to leave the United States.

For many the word travel implies far off exotic places and foreign languages. This is a common misconception. Leaving the United States, the greatest country in the world (for any foreign readers), will only leave you disappointed. Let me squash the reasoning of anyone who tells you that you need to see the Eiffel Tower, Pyramids, Big Ben, Italian countryside, or any other of the countless potential mistakes you just may make. 

France would be great if it weren’t for those pesky French people

The French have an institution named the L'Académie française that protects the French language from the modern world. Basically new words must be approved before official use in the dialect. For example this is a sentence you would never hear in French: I was eating a Big Mac today while blogging then totally Facebooked it. To be completely honest, I can respect this. It is irritating to hear people make up words and expect to be respected when they go around talking like a fool.

However, I’m not sure if there is a similar French institution that must approve inventions before they are used. The reason I say this is because when riding the Metro in Paris, you would swear that no one in the country has heard of deodorant. A stench I can only liken to cooked taco meat that has sat out on a stove for three weeks marauds you as you enter the underground. 

Now stuck up liberal yuppies will tell you that you must go to Paris for the food, wine, art, and the Eiffel Tower. If I wanted fancy food I would go to Red Lobster. I have actually been to Paris and I couldn’t find boxed wine anywhere, so I don’t know what these yuppie fucks are talking about. Also, I didn’t see Tom Hanks in the Louvre to show me clues about how Jesus secretly is a panda in the San Diego zoo. So clearly the museums were a waste of time. Lastly, the Eiffel Tower looks much better with a Casino in the background that sells giant Margaritas.

U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!

England

I’ve spoken about England before and because of their tongue and connection to our own country, they are the least reprehensible of the rest of the world. However, that is one reason to avoid England. It’s basically the same as the United States but they talk funny and cars drive in the opposite direction on the road. I’m pretty sure I can recreate these circumstances on a Tuesday night with a few good friends and a couple of bottles of whiskey. Cheers!

In Soviet Russia, vodka drinks you!

Russia is known for their alcohol, vast expanses of nothingness, and corruption. Buy some Stolichnaya, drive through Nebraska, and try to buy off the state trooper when you get pulled over for driving very too fast. No matter the outcome, you will be better off because you won’t run the risk of encountering these Ruskies:

Drago eats nails for breakfast, uses small children as punching bags, and doesn't know the Cold War ended. Beware.

The Russian Prime Minister, Vladimir Putin, likes to wait in the woods for foreigners. 

Africa

Let’s be honest somewhere around ninety five percent of Americans cannot name more than five cities in Africa. To Americans Africa is a blackhole. People who go there rarely come back and little is known about it. Americans know about as much concerning Africa as Bill Clinton knows about Hillary’s fun stuff. But if you are one of those Americans who is curious to know more about institutions that haven’t had much significance in a long time, just go to a Chicago Cubs game. It will save you a lot of time and you probably won’t get dysentery from the hot dogs.   

Italy wantsa meatballa!!!

Yeah you do Italy, you want those meatballs…mmmm… Oh I’m sorry please excuse me. I didn’t think anyone was still reading.

Italy fascinates me so. It’s not the society that the Romans built or the history of the Roman Catholic Church and the Vatican. It’s not the Vespas or the Lamborghinis. The men and the food are what really captivate my mind.

When in Italy I was overcome with confusion. At every corner I saw men wearing capris, or more appropriately manpris. For the record, capris are barely acceptable for women. They are pants that just will not make up their mind. Are they short pants, known as shants? Are they extreme floods? Are they really long shorts? I find capris to be the single most useless piece of clothing a woman can buy. Men should never buy these hybrid pants that were clearly a result of a few fashion designers playing god in a laboratory.

The face of this 'man' is withheld to secure 'his' personal safety.

It makes me smile every morning knowing that Italian Americans are much more savvy in almost every way to Italians. The fancy, borderline feminine dress just does not stand under the good old red, white, and blue. In fact, just to stand apart from those Italians who are too estrogenically connected, Italian Americans make a point to be burly, gruff, and disconnected from vanity. Take these Italian Americans as a prime example:

Nice headbands bros

Eastern Block

As you travel further East in Europe, the scenic views disappear and smog dominates the horizon. The sun refuses to shine so as not to give anyone living there a false sense of hope. The smell of unchecked industry crawls into your nose and refuses to leave. If the bleak surroundings of Eastern Europe are what you desire, why not try Detroit? It will save you some time and you can take in some old fashioned American pollution with a McDonald's burger.  

Latin America

The only reason to visit Latin America is to be ironic and steal a native person’s job. If you are ballsy enough to steal a Spanish speaking person’s job, then props to you and your intense principled stand.

He's got the right idea (picture via Meet A Stranger).

Otherwise Americans should stay away from Latin American tourist traps. Instead go to the local Taquería, fumble your way through ordering your tacos in Spanish, and call it a night. 

China

Impressive traffic jams that literally last for days on end are found near the big cities of China. Spewing from these is a layer of smog so heavy the sun can’t penetrate through it. Chinese food is at every corner the eye can see. Yes this sounds like China, but it also sounds like Los Angeles. 

In a seventy-five mile traffic jam that can last days, an important question that arises is whether or not you poo in your Hyundai Sonata?

When you factor in that there are billions of Chinese people in China who are trying to take world control away from the majestic Bald Eagle and company, the choice is pretty obvious. 

Vietnam and Southeast Asia

There are only two groups of Americans allowed to return to Vietnam. The first is obviously John Rambo. If the Army needs Rambo to retrieve soldiers, intelligence, or anything else he is allowed to travel there. For the record, Rambo is his own group of people. When you can hold off the police for days in the forest, your badassery merits acknowledgements like these.

Veterans returning to meet with ex-lovers, bastard children, and opium dealers they made friends with during the war constitute the second group of people. Sometimes honoring the troops means letting your husband go back to reunite with the prostitute he railed forty some odd years ago. For the record, much is made of the fact that you can go to these poor Asian nations and find cheap hookers of all sizes, shapes, and ages. If nasty sex is what you really want you don’t have to leave the land of the Stars and Stripes. Move to Las Vegas or become a priest. It’s quite simple. 

Canada, eh?

Oh Canada, the top hat of the USA. Like a top hat should, Canada makes the USA classy. These funny talking, nature orientated souls have few problems eating moose, pooing on ice, and drinking Labatt Blue. While we rarely give them credit, Canada makes the USA look amazingly refined by comparison.

To quote the most honest t-shirt I ever wore, “Canada, they started a country and nobody came”. So why should I come to Canada when I can go bear hunting in Minnesota like a true American, holding my semi-automatic rifle that will surely render that bear completely useless?

You're Welcome

I grow weary of churning out this truth for you to read. While I could continue to embolden the opinion that never leaving the United States is not only possible but also advisable, I think you can put the rest of the puzzle pieces together. I hope this serves to set the record straight that when I cut myself while scaling Mount Rushmore, I bleed red, white, and blue. 

European Travels: The Sun Never Sets on the British Empire

I was sitting on my couch the other day with my Dad watching Arsenal play a match against Shakhtar Donetsk. My dad explained to me that this soccer stuff was basically ‘slow hockey’ and promptly fell asleep, from boredom one can only assume. Good match it ended up being, with Arsenal winning handily.

This made me think about my travels through Europe and some of the interesting cultural differences I’ve come across. More specifically, stereotypes I’ve encountered or shattered. I’ve been to Europe four times now and I’d like to tell you a story. 

When I travel I’m always looking for that true European experience whether it’s in England, France or wherever else. It’s not as easy as you would think. Undoubtedly it’s fun to see the historical and cultural sights but there’s nothing like coming back with some stories about locals you chummed it up with. Fortunately for my most recent trip o’er the pond, my friend Phil and I were able to find one of these experiences. 

England

Isolated on an island, the English are unaware of modern day guns.

Oh England, the English speaking paradise of Europe. This former patriarch of the land I call home is domicile to bad teeth, homely women, bad food, and soccer hooligans. At least that’s what popular belief here in the USA says. Well I am here to set the record straight. The teeth are really bad. 

I really enjoyed England. It’s like America except everyone talks funny and the streets are backwards. So when you’re drunk at four in the morning it’s very easy to get yourself killed stepping out into traffic. Speaking of getting drunk (which I have been known to enjoy), London had the most rules I’ve ever seen about getting drunk. Mind you this is in the area known as Piccadilly Circus and Leicester Square. It’s a trendier/touristy area in the heart of London that reminded me a lot of being in New York City around Times Square. 

So the rules

If you want to get drunk and watch a soccer game (like we did one night) you must go to the sports bars. It seems no other bar in the heart of downtown shows the matches. Walk into a pub, no game. Walk into a sports bar, games everywhere. The problem lies in the fact that the lines to get into sports bars go half way around the block. By the time you’ve entered the bar, the game is at half. What’s the point?

Now if you want to get good old fashioned saucy for no reason the pub is a good choice. You would think that as I did, but once again London drinking rules are in effect. The pubs, though a good source of beer, close rather early: midnight or one in the morning depending on the night of the week. In one of these pubs we met the most attractive ladies we did in England. We started talking and it turns out they were from America. No surprise there, like I said before England is full of homely women. Also no surprise that they were ‘heading home’ at bar close and didn’t want to come out for some more drinks. They told us that if we wanted to keep drinking until the wee hours of the morning, the night clubs were the way to go.

If you’ve ever seen a picture of me, you would know that I don’t do night clubs. I have nightmares about nightclubs. Smooth-chested men in leather pants with gelled hair attack me in those dreams. Bass heavy techno sampling songs from dead artists I actually like make my ears bleed in those dreams. Women who want nothing more than free drinks and ecstasy from me make me broke in those dreams. I wasn’t about to make any of those terrible things reality. 

The loophole we found was the 24 hour casinos. A little bit of sanity in an insane part of the city. As long as we kept gambling, we could drink all night long. And for all that drunk gambling I did, I actually made money. So the moral of the story kids is drunk gambling will never lead to bad consequences. In fact we came across another group of attractive ladies while at the casino: they were Irish. 

Hooligans & Their Food

Okay so now that we have established that there are far too many homely women in London, let’s move on to my other preconceived notions: soccer hooligans and bad food. The food wasn’t bad. It was like the dinners your grandma made after she started to lose it. But you can’t complain to your grandmother for serving you tacos and green bean casserole because you know she loves you. It wasn’t bad, it just seemed the combinations were uninspired. The ‘Full English Breakfast’ consisted of eggs, a sausage, a tomato, a mushroom, and toast. They all tasted decent, but when you look at the plate you think ‘This is what you came up with?’  All I can say is that the food was good enough to give me a solid base for drinking. And as you will soon learn, that was important one night. The main reason my friend and I went to England was to see an Arsenal game, not the food. 

We made our way to North London for the match against Wolverhampton. Drank a few pints before the match in pubs packed like sardine tins. We then headed down the street to the Emirates. The neighborhood was really cool and reminded me somewhat of Wrigleyville in Chicago. It was a neighborhood consisting of flats and two-flats as far as the eye could see. Small, locally owned shops, pubs, and restaurants lined the main thoroughfares. It had that olden feeling, even for London. But then, out of nowhere rises the intimidating modern steel of the Emirates. 

Beautiful.

That's Phil, in all his glory

Packed house for the match.

The game was great. No score through 90 minutes despite the Gunners’ constant peppering of the Wolves’ goalie. Stoppage time came and in the 94^th minute Niklas Bendtner streaked into the box and headed a cross pass into the goal for the dramatic win. The Emirates erupted in relief as Arsenal put away a game that should not have been so close.  

   

Just to clarify a bit here: Arsenal FC players are called Gunners and their fans are called Gooners. I don’t understand the Gooners thing, so don’t ask. High on life my friend Phil and I made our way to a pub named Bailey’s Gooners. Obviously this bar was for Gooners exclusively. However if the name wasn’t clear enough, there was a sign placed in the window stating ‘No visiting fans welcome’. The bar was small, completely covered in wood and very dark.  It was daylight when we entered the bar and probably about two in the morning when we left. 

Gunner Niklas Bendtner

We chatted with a few groups of fans and as the time wore on and pints turned into more pints neither of us wanted to leave. Slowly the bar started to become less populated. There was one group of guys who remained. They were serious fans. They lead the bar in soccer chants the entire night. Unparalleled is the sense of unity in sport when an entire pub erupts into song together. You just don’t see this very much in American sports. At the end of a good Bears game this is what you’re bound to hear walking back to your car:

 Fuck yeah those fuckin’ Colts really fuckin’ sucked. And you see Cutler? Fuckin’ amazing tonight. 

HEY FUCK YOU JACKWAD, PACKERS SUCK!

Anyway we talked quite a bit with this group of guys. There were four of them that I remember. The first was really tall, probably about six foot five or so with a five o’clock shadow from yesterday. The second was a kid so bland I can’t really come up with a description for him. I do remember he really liked cocaine because he kept talking about it. In fact, all of them were talking about cocaine quite a bit. The third was a short, humorous, black guy dressed in purple. Last guy seemed to be a prick, honestly. He was very serious and despite the fact that the other three guys liked us, I’m not so sure he did. The night wore on with this crack group of guys discussing sports, America, and England. 

Sometime late, we all moved on to new bars. All I really remember from this part of the night was walking through the streets, singing soccer songs, and watching these guys knock over trash cans, construction signs, and basically anything not chained to the ground. Stop in a bar have a couple drinks, move on to the next. We got a good tour of North London. It was during this march that we found out these guys, although they did cocaine and were drinking at the bars without a problem, were 17, 18, and 19 years old. Maybe it was the beers that shaded our perception or maybe it was the fact that they wanted to keep drinking, but it never crossed either of our minds. Somewhere in the range three in the morning (mind you the spirits began somewhere around 1pm), Phil and I decided to head back to the hotel. We had a seven a.m. train to Amsterdam to catch. Somehow we made it back to the hotel and to the train on-time. In hindsight, a miracle.

That train ride to Amsterdam was probably God’s way of telling us that we were assholes. It was long and boy were we hurting really bad. But it was totally worth it. Nothing beats hanging out with the locals when abroad, even if they were five years younger than us. If you want to party, I'm game. That may just say something about my maturity level. However when all was said and done, it was truly an experience that will be hard to top.