Plenty was posted from this year's annual get-together in Rock-albegna, the renowned capital of music lovers from all the world. From him, to her, images and tales truly abound. What we lack, however, is a bit of PERSPECTIVE.
This is why I have decided to give MY OWN VERSION of the Eve's Travesty. Yes, my dear readers, 'cause it was a travesty in deed.
First of all: Tot T and I arrive to a house resembling the inside of an Arctic cave. -35 degrees Celcius, everything covered in variously-coloured moulds, moist sheets (and NOT for the reason you are thinking. That, perhaps, later).
By the time everyone arrives, Tot T and I have managed to bring some heat to the hovel, prepare decent food, make everything a little homely just like two gay boys can do. And what next? Tot F decides to BINGE IT like there's no tomorrow and arrives in a state of catatonic stupor. Blaming innocent Asian flu viruses, on top of all. It was clear to all a body like that cannot catch a cold. There's no flesh to get hold of.
Did I mention the broken projetor? Yes, dear readers. The vital machine, which keeps us all sane while we are stuck in the f*cking countryside decided it was high time to drop dead, despite its juvenile age. Tot T and I resolve to watch movies on my computah, and are saved when Tot F arrives with a new projector, kindly offered by Little J. Mind you, when the two leave to go back to the wretched capital, they take it with them leaving us to play MONOPOLY, in which we are soundly thrashed by Lady V the slum landlady. Can you believe it? The woman knows her property sh*t. Anyway, no comment on that little robbery. Pay back time is on its way, darling.
Then, of course, there was the day we all went skiing. Well, that's a bit fresh when speaking about two 15 degree leaning slopes coverd in slosh. But hey ho, we are in Tuscany after all, surrounded by Romans. Apex of the day? Sitting in a bar, Tot F slurping lightly on Little J, while 4 inbred brutes are eyeing us all up wondering whether to rape us AND kill us, or just kill us. Ladies: the Castro is NOT just around the corner.
Finally, NYE. Well, the dumpling making wrecked by inner OCD kid. While I fretted meticulously on the exact foldings of each dumpling, everyone else was slapping pork and pasta sheets together like there's no tomorrow, juices running high. Inside I wanted to grab a Beretta and put an end to all the misery. Outside, I smiled and wore Sheyam hair to make me feel better.
Next year I am going to Mali. ON. MY. OWN. (with Tot T). Rah.
2 comments:
You left out one Travesty that, though ultimately overcome, threatened to Ruin Everything. The breaking of the oven just as the Haunch went in. Oh yes, many good times were had face-down in the mouse shit, arms flailing blindly in the scorpion-infested crevices of the kitchen, sticking fingers into wet electrical sockets (and gods knows what else), buttocks exposed to the predations of casual passers-by. Without G+Ts and Dave it all might have gone tits up.
BUT, in sum, I remember things much more jolly-ly than that! As the great Chinese proverb teaches: Only in the Forests of Hardship does one find the Stumps of Joy. Or something like that. Good times, happy days.
Stumps of Joy? Are you referring to Lady V by any chance?
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