We Now Return You To Your Regularly Scheduled Prague-ramming (Okay, That One Was A Bit Of A Stretch)

25 09 2012

Percy had always wanted to try real absinthe.  There was something about the idea of drinking absinthe that made Percy think of the artists and writers of days gone by; of Toulouse-Lautrec, of Oscar Wilde and especially of Ernest Hemingway, one of his favorite writers.  And so on his last night in Prague when he came across a cozy little place called, as if by fate, Hemingway Bar, that just so happened to serve the green fairy, Percy was enchanted.  Here was his chance to have a tiny little piece of the expatriate experience that he had heard so much about in his college literary classes; here was his chance to taste inspiration.  He waited patiently, watching each ice cold drop of water trickle over the carefully perched sugar cube into the chartreuse liquid below, savoring the moment.  He took a sip, expecting bliss, and then coughed, discreetly he hoped.  Why had nobody thought to ever tell him this stuff tasted like licorice?  Percy hated licorice.  Upon further investigation, he realized anise and fennel, two of his most hated seasonings, made up key ingredients of the spirit.  Percy took a deep breath and drank the rest of the absinthe and decided to move on to the rest of the cocktail menu instead, which looked delicious.  At any rate, he had tried something new, and he was pretty sure that Ernest Hemingway would have approved of his choice to drink rum or champagne, so long as he was drinking in general.  Overall, this vacation in Prague had been a smashing success; might as well spend the last night getting smashed.

I don’t normally promote things here (my audience is tiny anyway), but believe me when I tell you that Hemingway Bar in Prague has the best cocktails I have ever tasted.  Plus, it’s cozy and has great ambience, the bartenders are friendly and knowledgable, and it’s just great all around.  I love it.  We spent parts of three of our six nights in Prague here.  Seriously, you have to go there.  Do it!


The Czech Is In The Mail (This Is Hard. YOU Try Coming Up With Words Starting With “Prague.”)

20 09 2012

Shopping for the perfect souvenir to take to certain people back home had, as usual, proven difficult, as Percy had never been great at gift-shopping to begin with.  Most of the stuff in these touristy shops was crap, and he didn’t want to bring home knick-knacks that would end up getting dusty on a shelf or thrown away in a few years time.  The things that did look nice in the not-quite-as-touristy shops were either too expensive and/or easily breakable, and he didn’t want to spend money on something that might be broken in his suitcase on the way home.  (Baggage handlers could never be trusted.)  Percy gravitated, as usual, to the ubiquitous wall of refrigerator magnets, but now he was faced with the tough decision of what to pick.  Which magnet would say “I’m too cheap to buy you a real present, but not so cheap that I didn’t bring you anything at all”?

The Prague-tologist Said To Turn Your Head And Cough

15 09 2012

Percy wondered if the guards at Prague Castle liked their jobs or not.  It was probably an occupation that carried a lot of ceremonial importance, he thought, but he could see how having tourists take your picture every minute of every day could get old.  Did they feel objectified, or perhaps reduced to a novelty that people from other countries without working castles could never fully appreciate?  Did their knees get really stiff?  How much effort would it take to get them to break character and smile?  Like, let’s say a topless woman wearing bunny ears danced the Roger Rabbit in front of this guy, would that crack his steely exterior? Realizing that he was never going to get an answer to these questions, Percy supposed the only thing to do was to do the same thing as everybody else and get somebody to snap a photo.  As he continued with the rest of his castle tour, he hoped that behind the serious facade there was a man who liked to have fun and laugh once in a while.

Please Submit Your Prague-ress Reports By Friday

13 09 2012

Percy had always believed deep down, that if he tried really, really, really hard he could fly.  Although he had always been told if you believe in yourself that you can do anything, he suspected that perhaps here, high up on the walls of Prague Castle, was not the best place to test out this theory.  Yes, he had just learned about the Second Defenestration of Prague, whereby someone had survived a 70-foot fall after being thrown out one of the castle windows, but he wasn’t sure he would be so lucky if his dreams of flying didn’t pan out.  Also, this drop looked like it might be more than 70 feet, and he was pretty sure dying would most likely ruin the view.

The Doctor Told Me The Prague-nosis Was Good

11 09 2012

The thing that people seemed to say the most when Percy told them that he was going to Prague was that the beer was cheap, and for the most part, it was.  But while Percy knew that many beers in Europe were supposed to be somewhat heady, he took a little offense to the fact that they never seemed to be as full as he thought they should be.  Look at this pint, he had thought. He hadn’t taken a sip yet and it already seemed to be a quarter empty.  Ah, well, he reasoned, he might be getting a little swindled but there wasn’t much point in getting upset. He didn’t want to be “that” American who was picky and obnoxious, and besides, the sun was shining, the city was beautiful, and you couldn’t really complain about any beer that was only a couple bucks when you figured in the exchange rate. The only beer you could get at a bar back home that for that price was Miller Lite on happy hour special, and this real Czech pilsner was way better than that crap.

Sun, Sand and Sexy Times

31 08 2012

Puff had forgotten what a bad companion Hula Girl was when they went to the beach.  All she did was ogle the lifeguards and shake her little grass skirt at every board-shorted surfer passing by.  At least it wasn’t as bad as that time that they had “accidentally” wandered on to that nudist beach when they were traveling around Europe.  Hula Girl had been less than discreet about her temporary infatuation with the naked Spaniard sunning himself on the next towel over, while all Puff had noticed were how many UNattractive people there were on the beach.  For fuck’s sake, that old guy’s dangly bits had been nearly down to his knees, and that woman’s nipples were as big as pie plates.  She knew that Europeans had a more liberal mentality when it came to these things, but Puff was quite happy to never go to one of those places again.  Naked ugly people scared her.

Fact: Turpentine Gets Slug Slime Off

18 08 2012

It’s not that SyFy Channel movies are bad.  It’s that they are really bad.  So, so bad.  Terrible.  Stunningly atrocious.  And  yet, somebody is being paid to write this crap.  Repeatedly.  And people keep watching.  Sure, they cancelled My So-Called Life and Arrested Development, but SyFy just keeps pumping out Sharktopus and Rage of the Yeti.  With that in mind, Mr. Octopus has decided that he should have no problem making a mid-life career change and becoming a screenwriter for SyFy.  He is putting the finishing touches on his soon-to-be-breakout television blockbuster, “Were-Slugs: Sidewalk of Terror!”  It might also be called “Blimey!  They’re Slimy!”  He hasn’t decided yet.

Finale:  The UC Santa Cruz cheerleading squad is holding a bikini car wash across the street from a nursing home and a special-needs preschool. The previously sunny sky quickly clouds over. A light warm drizzle starts to fall. The head cheerleader’s skin slowly begins to change from smooth and olive-complected (Mr. Octopus is not sure if “complected” is an actual word) to clammy and lavender-ish. Six of the remaining eleven cheerleaders start to feel similar effects. Across the street, two old ladies take plastic kerchiefs out of their purses and tie them over their carefully-curled white hair while the preschool teacher instructs her pupils that a little rain will not hurt them. With a loud thunderclap, the sky opens up and lashing rain pounds the pavement. The seven cheerleaders are now a deep aubergine color and oozing slime.  No!  How could this happen to them?  They are popular, dammit!  As their killer slug instincts slowly (obviously) take over and they transform into giant purple booger-like creatures, they can’t fight the urge to attack.  Five cheerleader were-slugs inch across the street towards a gaggle of confused seniors and the preschool, where the teacher (Martika, in a cameo role, because every SyFy movie needs an 80’s pop star) is frantically trying to roll tiny wheelchairs up the ramp into the school one by one.  The remaining two were-slugs turn on their fellow cheer-leaders, whose bikini tops at this point magically, and for no good reason, start to fall down.  About an hour later, just before the certain doom of the old folks and the toddlers (the cheerleaders are dead at this point, having been unable to run away in their stilettos), the Navy SEALS helicopter in and start spraying the scene with bullets made of pure salt.  As we see the bullets hit the were-slugs in slow-mo (reeeeeaaaaaalllllly slow-mo), Martika’s classic song “Toy Soldiers” (seriously, she probably needs the money these days) plays over the melee .  [To keep the budget down, we can throw grape Jell-O at the camera for this shot.]  After the grisly slime-bath is over, a single Navy SEAL goes over to the teacher and hands her his last salt bullet.  Covered in ooze, they kiss.  On the ground, a severed were-slug antenna starts to twitch.  Fade out.