10 Random Thoughts from Italy

1. There is way too much Jesus art. What I wouldn’t do for a portrait of Moses.
2. Most Italian women are beautiful until they smile.
3. Michelangelo’s David has a penis the size of my leg.
4. For being such a holy place, the Vatican sells shit every 10 meters. (And people think Jews are bad?)
5. Lactose intolerance and large amounts of pizza make for an interesting trip.
6. All Italian guys must get batwings like a mofo with this humidity.
7. I feel like I’m in New Delhi with all the Indians (dot not feather)
8. Americans are missing out on the bidet craze.
9. I have never paid to use a bathroom, and I would rather piss myself than spend a Euro.
10. Always remember to validate your train tickets or you get pumped up the butt hard with fines, get into broken English fights with the conductor and end up in the middle of Bumfuck Tuscany.

Aventuras Bolivianas

Madrid would not have been the same without David. He stands at a meager 5’5”, with long, greasy curls and a giant potbelly. He smells of stale peanuts and fried cardboard. If you met mi amigo David, you would instantly want him as a pet.

A few nights ago, I decided to go out on the town and see what the Madrileno Night Life is all about. I started off at El Museo de Jamon (translation: Ham Museum). Imagine walking up to a bar and having giant ham legs stare you back in the face.

So, I order some cerveza, start drinking and all of a sudden up pops this little fat weeble in his “Scorpion” hat and starts spitting rapid Spanish at me. Perfect… I can practice my Spanish with him.

We bust out conversation about all the good things George W is doing for the U.S., the U.S. dollar’s leverage in the global exchange, politics, Bolivia, Spain, Gypsies and their rattails and our families. (David works with his wife in Madrid and sends money back to support his 5 children in Bolivia.)

After a good hour and a half of talking and drinking, the conversation took a nose dive into perversion (like any convo between two guys would.) David started talking about pinocha, tetas y chupas. I’ll let you translate that on your own.

Next thing I know, we’re leaving the Ham Museum and headed for David’s favorite bar. Along the way, David takes me on a little detour… La Calle de Monclada. Hookers! Hookers all over the place! Nigerian, Romanian, Spanish, Moroccan… it’s like the ‘It’s a Small World’ Ride in Disney World but with cat calls, boob gropes and lots of syphilis and crabs.

Right away, I could tell David was like a fat kid at an all-you-can-eat buffet. He kept licking his lips every 5 seconds, and I never checked, but I’m sure he was walking half-mast the whole way up the street. He even tried to convince me to buy a hooker named Francese for both of us (…solamente 50 Euros…). My response: “David, no le joderia con tu pene!” (translation: I wouldn’t fuck her with your junk!)

We finished our sweep of Sexo Street, but David still had more tricks up his sleeve. He brought me to one of his favorite hangouts: El Peep Show! I actually never checked one out, and I can say I never will again, but I’ll cross it off my Life To-Do List.

Fast forward to about 10 minutes later… we’re sitting in the Ham Museum again, drinking more cervezas. All of a sudden, in walks this suave, debonair Frenchman, smoking a cigarette in a blue suit. (Yes, the description is necessary because this guy was a major badass. Imagine Antonio Banderas in a 60 year-old French guy’s body… total badass)

David: Hola Felipe. Como Estas?
Felipe: (pauses to take a long drag of his cig) Estoy…. Bien!

This guy was a total baller. We talk, we drink, and soon enough Felipe buys a round and tells me to buy the next. That’s when he asked me how much money I had. If you’ve ever traveled in a foreign country, you know that’s a total Red Flag. (Like my dad continues to tell me: stop being a schmuck and separate your money from your wallet.) I just played dumb and told him I had 10 Euro (more like 50).

A few minutes later, I pull out my wallet to pay for the round, and he grabs my wallet, calling me a liar. Felipe… the French pimp, this amazing badass… was pulling all the money from my wallet. He was actually robbing me in front of my eyes. The best part of all… he’s still smoking his cigarette while he nonchalantly begins to put the money in his pocket like it’s nothing.

I grab the money from his hand, grab my wallet and start yelling: “Who the fuck do you think you are? Get the fuck off my shit you asshole.”

Calmly, without even a twitch, he puffs on his cigarette and says, “You seem upset. You should go see my friend Francese…”