This week: Copenhagen!
Howdy from Copenhagen, Guys. What’s to say about
Copenhagen, really? For one, gladly note that Denmark’s
State Motto (‘Something is Rotten!’) stops right
on Copenhagen’s doorstep. Or, if it should enter, it is
immediately turned away by the burly hirsute bouncer, Johan.
Yes, turned away all right…by his rotten B.O.! Seriously,
though, it’s not so bad now that the city’s trademark
grenade launcher-wielding motorcycle gangs are officially last
Accommodations For the budget traveler, Copenhagen
offers many frozen dinghies half submerged in the raw sewage
of the harbor, ideal for the stowaway with nothing to lose and
rudimentary olfactory senses. Fashion snow shoes out of moldy,
discarded kitchen sponges and lash to your feet with razor wire.
Pain? Not a problem, thanks to your frostbitten, necrotizing
flesh. Next, stumble out onto the solidified muck until the
local boys notice and make sport of you with their stun pistols…oh,
you have money? Well, then! Hotel, hotel, hotel.
For the few hardy travelers not completely overpowered by Copenhagen’s
vaporous ‘Night Stench,’ a surprisingly vibrant
evening out awaits. On the one hand there is the red light district,
in which partiers takes turns looking at rouge-tinted illuminated
monofilaments. On the other hand, fortified wine tasting near
the burning oil barrel. Look closely and you might see Hans
Christian Anderson’s burial place, soiled with fish gore
and tasty frosting.
Dining Hope you like fucking fish, motherfucker.
The Out of Doors I have to tell you, unless
you get a real hard-on from watching your own frozen nose break
off, out-side might not be the side for you. Cozy up to a fire,
if you can stand sitting next to that noxious flame master Bjorn
Jorgenson. Bring him treats of seared bear jerky for a choice
spot within ten feet of his bonfire, or face the wrath of ass
hammer! Just kidding.
Shopping Let’s assume that, after purchasing
a morsel of bready mold and bribing the ‘butt squad,’
that you’ve got a few pennies left over. Maybe you should
consider giving them to a local porn farmer in exchange for
a ride out of town strapped to the axle of his ‘jackmobile.’
You won’t regret it, or, at the least, I won’t.