Wasting My Youth in Prague
(11 parts)
Behold the hastily scribbled diary of my summer semester in Prague, filed via the Internet in May-July 2001. For best results, read in numerical order.
I arrive in Prague, move into my fire-trap dormitory and get acquianted with the Czech love of meat.
My ego takes a flushing when I can’t figure out how to operate a Czech toilet.
The restaurant is trying to rip me off. I fight back.
There are mistranslations of English, and there are hilariously insulting mistranslations of English.
Flying blobs of molten glass, buried munitions, oversexed hermits and other Bohemian hazards.
I engage in a dramatic battle of wits with pickpockets on the thief-infested Prague metro—and lose.
Welcome to Prague, a world leader in ‘unpolite’ customer service.
Medieval artists loved nothing more than to inflict suffering on poor ol’ Jesus Christ. But has He suffered enough? Includes a letter from an offended Christian.
I try absinth, and learn that you can’t be driven insane if you’re insane already.
He tried his best, but Mr. Hustler Pimp Drug-Dealer Guy couldn’t convince me that I speak German.
Time passes at the speed of life when you’re having the time of your light. Can I wrap this up without using too many vomitous travel clichés?