March 30
That t-shirt says, “Czech Me Out!” THASS HILARIOUS!

The women in this town, they’re something else, huh? Something beautiful! But what’s with the hair colors, ladies? You know what I’m talking about, fellas! I’ve seen red, bright orange, PURPLE! My question is, do the curtains match the carpet?!?! I’ve heard of a fire crotch, but COME ON! And the men are holding up their end of the bargain - I’m seein’ alotta sweet ‘staches out there. The fellas know what’s up!


While strolling the Charles Bridge, I stopped to listen to the Original Prague Syncopated Orchestra as they played their unique brand of rare, early jazz from the 1920s. Their new album, Goin’ Crazy with the Blues, is hitting street corners everywhere, and judging from the band’s live performance their latest studio output should be a real treat.


Is there anything gayer than a heterosexual couple in love? Last night, Jeff and Christina went off and did their own gay thing together, probably involving some gay dinner and romantic walk (read: gay) around the city. I took the opportunity to spend a guy’s night out with a kid named Peter who goes to GW and a buncha random girls. You bet it was as fun as it sounds!

These girls were new to the gentlemen’s entertainment scene, and that was the perfect rationalization to mask our own titty-focused agendas. I had also heard that accompanying females to a strip club for their first time is considered a form of community service in the Czech Republic. So we scraped together our funny money and hit the streets.

We didn’t have to walk far before stumbling upon a seemingly reputable establishment called the Amsterdam Cabaret Club. Remembering my Euro algebra, Amsterdam plus Cabaret times Club equals titties plus ridiculous cover fee. The old bastard at the door wanted 250 koruny per person. Remembering some other math that I learned through a computer game, that’s 10 USD each. I bargained down to 1000 kc for the five of us, hoping that we’d get at least a good hour’s worth of premium titty. But as soon as we made our theatrical entrance through the black velvet curtain, I knew we had been had! We took our seats in the near corner of the empty bar, empty save for a British couple looking equally at unease as my motley band of prudish co-eds. Surveying the room, I could see about a dozen decrepit women sitting at the bar who, for their age, appeared inappropriately dressed in skimpy lingerie. Two girls were exchanging dances set to popular hip hop favorites on a pole in the opposite corner, but neither was disrobing much to the dismay of Peter and me. Behind the bar were several TV sets tuned to nasty, hardcore porno films that only added an element of creepiness to an otherwise merely pathetic scene. To borrow one of Patton Oswalt’s bon mots from an episode of Comedians of Comedy, it was like miserableness had taken a dump on sadness. Browsing the drink menu quickly induced a shift of emotion from confusion and remorse to seething outrage. “10 dollar beers! On top of the 10 dollar cover! Are you fucking serious!” After inquiring with the waitress as to “what the fuck’s the deal here,” I found out the real story behind the more Amsterdam than Cabaret “Club.” It was a whorehouse, pure and simple. You buy time with menopausal mistress, and you bang her in the back room. The attempt to indulge my impossibly horny side had acquainted me with Prague’s depressively hoary side. Goddammitanyway. We picked up and shuffled out of there, reaching down into the well of our high school Econ knowledge to analyze our pitiful disposition. Amsterdam Cabaret was a sunk cost, and we’d leave it at that.

Epilogue:
Determined to show these girls a lonely trucker’s idea of a good time, Peter and I led the charge downtown where we met a costumed barker who showed us to Rio, a tropical-themed titty bar in the American style we all knew and loved. Surrounded by Italian tourists in a lively atmosphere, we enjoyed a good show and reasonably priced drinks to the tunes of 50 Cent and DJ Tanner. As for the girls in the group, well, they all got wasted and started making out with the strippers onstage. One of them fell in love with the bouncer and followed him home, and another one was sent to the hospital with a herniated disc. Jeff and Christina remain gay.