This week: The Hague!

The Hague, which translates roughly to either "excitement" or "orgasm," has earned international notoriety as Europe's unofficial 'party capital.'  Licentious post-teen ravers ride mechanical dildo-equipped 'fish' through absinthe-filled canals, shuttling between the estimated five-hundred 24-hour floating Bacchanals occurring at any given moment inside this Netherlander pleasuredome.  The newcomer from such comparative monasteries as Bali and Amsterdam is often shell shocked following their initial complementary explosive blow job, but as the vagina-bots say, "Dach van der wienersvergl, Schvitzners!"

Visitors beware! however.  Even the original sin city has its limits. Non-approved 'zubordovolk' (that's probably you, unless you've somehow achieved eighth-tier uberkrammensten (I think not!)) must refrain from entering the "Verbotenburg," a mysterious complex of windowless towers ringed by a 3-story titanium security parameter equipped with x-ray surveillance and guarded at all times by roving teams of domesticated Republicans.  Make one wrong turn, and you'll find yourself running
for your life through the crumbling catacombs that bypass the flame river estuary.  Ever tried running from a Republican in wooden shoes? I don't recommend it, 'freund.'

Back on safer turf and juiced up on electric narco-bevs, swing by s'Gravenhague's most famous building, which houses the International Court of Justice.  Solidly backed by contracts and treaties signed and affirmed by every single country on Earth, this highly efficient paragon of swift and fair retribution has brought low the worst criminal masterminds in the Internation, each retrieved by squads of feared and daring Interpol Commandos.  Yes, insane genocidal freaks of all stripes, including Eyepatch Joe, Like-the-Devil Yamagusa and [real criminal to be named by Spring '09] have all met their match within these esteemed walls.  Tremble, drug-dealing warlords, the International Court of Justice has a muscular writ with your name on it!

You won't need to worry about money, here.  The currency of the land is the Broken Promise, or sex.  And violent street thuggery is a thing of the Past, all of which has been outlawed by The Hague's groundbreaking "No Time But the Present" ordinance.  Of course this means you don't have any future here, either, stranger. One last piece of advice: if you stick your thumb in the dyke, don't take it out until she says you can take it out!  You know, she: Margot Holke, minister of leak-plugging.

Nayn griberdukker, Volstmenchen!  I'll catch you next week from Sofia!