Last night the Dreadnoughts valiantly battled a local group of Luzern 9 year-olds to a 4-4 draw at soccer. We had been drinking for six hours: red wine, beer, Kirsch (60% alcohol) and singing acoustic songs for a bunch of excellent Swiss people, one of whom was, in Seamus's words, "fucking hot". I just liked that she kept bringing us drinks: more beer, more wine, and eventually Absinthe. We ended up shirtless in a basement laundry room bawling out sea shanties and drinking a ridiculous amount of booze. Apparently I was quite obnoxious.
On the ride home I (apparently) went on a rant about how much I loved the Dread Pirate Druzil and Squid Vicious, and how, quote, "If a wizard came and told me that he was going to kill one of the three of us and I had to choose, I would choose me." Then (I am told) I passed out in the backseat with my hand down my pants.
The other amazing thing we saw was in Geneva: a dance club that wasn't total fucking balls. Get this: a 2000-person hall filled with revelers dancing to gypsy techno music. Two DJs played awesome melodic gypsy music and backed it up with techno beats: awesome. Every so often the female DJ would strut out in full gypsy regalia and sing her own awesome songs along to the beat. I hadn't felt that blissful since I saw Druzil get nailed in the balls by a falling box of CDs in the van.
We had heard about these things in Europe, and apparently they don't exist in North America. So, when we return, get ready for THE DREADNOUGHTS' GYPSY DANCE PARTY. It's gonna happen, people. Five bucks to get in and all the eurofolk dance music you could ever want. If you're lucky, we may even wear clothing.
Finally, a joke we heard from Marco's MegaSwiss Uncle Willy: A man has three rabbits, Hans Frans and Jurgen. One day he gets a gun and takes them out to the forest. He renames them "Hansovich", "Fransovich" and "Jurgenovich". A passing friend asks him why he renamed them. "Oh," he replies, "If I rename them Yugoslavian names I find it easier to shoot them."
RACIST UNCLE WILLY WIN.
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