Christopher Moore's Blog

Really having trouble findind time and an internet connection at the same time, but here’s a general update. First, Get aquainted with some more of the nice people from Frankfurt.

Heidi was from the Alps region of Bavaria and was not quite sure how to get acquainted with men in the big city of Frankfurt.

Dieter knew that his luck would change as soon as he got to touch the legendary Christmas Muslim.
Erik always traveled with a large group of close friends.

While Lars preferred one close friend, with whom he could be “intimate”.

The seeing-eye dog concept is different in Germany. Here Greta und Marta show the way to their retriever Schwienfleich, who, although not blind, can’t see shit without his glasses.

Here we see the age-old tradition of trading your soul for something shiny.

Fatima takes a break from hating us for our freedom to enjoy her oppression as a woman of the Muslim faith.

Markus was relatively sure that there’d been a kid in there not five minutes ago. He suspected his wife would be angry with him.
And so we leave Frankfurt, on to Munich and Cologne:

While the German trains are very advanced, they are years behind in their camouflage technology. Here a bullet train fails miserably at blending into nature.

Along the way, we pass the factory where Fox News Commentators are manufactured.

After being soaked in hatred and ignorance, they are fired out of this cannon.

People on the train read the day’s news. This is the front page. I don’t understand much German, but whoever this politician is, she’s getting my vote.
More Germany later, but for now, a little bit of Italy:

The first place we stayed, was rated tops in Routards (tards with butter) in 2006 and 2008. They lost their rating in 2007 while they were uptarding.

All the bathrooms in Italy have an extra bowl for washing your junk. Note the muffin towels as well as the port on the wall, which I presume is the blow dryer.

Speaking of junk, being secure in my masculinity, I would have totally bought this car we saw in Milan, except I couldn’t fit my huge junk into it.
Later, near Lake Como:

The Giordanos only get one channel, but if you watch it long enough you can bleed from the palms and feet, so, better than cable, really.

The Authorguy is surprised in his hotel room by a paparazzi.

Here he regains his composure and once again exudes profound coolness. (Shut up, it could happen.)
More later. The waitress at this internet cafe is giving me the Italian Stink Eye.
Ciao!
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