While it hasn’t been a My Sex Tour or Euro Sex Parties yet…as I account from the first class cabin of a train bound for Berlin — our stop there will be (rather appropriately) the Berlin Zoo…now I can re-account the haze of the last few days in Amsterdam:

After a rather brutal 10 hour flight in the sardine cabin on KLM, the first day seemed to start off normally enough: a visit to the smoke to stock up on weed, hash, and mushrooms, a quick cat nap, and then off to the first party of Webmaster Access 2005. The decision was made early to eat our bag of mushrooms and break off from the Webmaster Hoy Paloy to go out and experience the real Amsterdam.

Sounds smart enough, right?

We made through the packed lines at one of the higher end disco techs (via greasing the bouncers with a few Euros). Once inside, the mushrooms really started to kick in, we all started decorating on our shoes with a delightful array of vomit before getting back in the cab only to get into an impromptu fist fight in the middle of the street that was stirred on by one of my colleagues that shall remain nameless but for the purposes of this blog shall be henceforth be referred to as “Glass Joe” for his penchant for going down with one punch in a fight he started.

Having become concerned that I had not taken a poop the entire time I was in Europe – upon returning to my hotel room that night, (not being able to read the roper dosage for some laxatives because it was in Dutch) took four tablets rather than recommended dose of one. When it comes to OD’ing hell hath no furry the throes of a heavy laxative overdose. Most of the next day was spent alternately puking and shitting to the point I had purged out my soul, but one must soldier on…

The next night was off to more parties with the up and coming Interclimax Girls, where I popped around three tabs of ecstasy. After a while of hanging out – we got a call from “Glass Joe”, who said that he had a large quantity up in his room and asked if we would come by to to help him with it.

Of course, we obliged.

We sit there hitting the weasel dust pretty hard for the next few hours when the decision was made (not mine) to call up some hookers around 9AM. Now keep in mind, by this point I am on so many drugs and so drunk that a crane and a truckload of Viagra could not get my dick even halfway hard. Nevertheless, 4 hookers come over at the cost of 250 Euro a piece to sit around and watch us do drugs for 2 hours!!!

Now how stupid is that?

The next night was pretty much more of the same – hookers, partying, ect…except this time I actually managed to make it to bed by 7AM only to be interrupted by my cell mate bringing in a quite voluminous, yet quite psychotic, menstruating go-go dancer.

I said “fuck it”, got up, and spent the last day there touring the Van Gough museum, playing a little blackjack, and taking the crew out of a nice night of “romance” in the Red Light District — where again, I didn’t get any hookers. Yes, it is fun to window-shop, but there was more traffic coming in and out of these girl’s booths than the LA freeway at 5 PM. It was obvious these Dutch hotties had seen more dicks than Haynes Underwear in just one night!

Who knows, maybe I’m losing my edge.

I’m off to the Fatherland.

Jay