Covered in leaves of autumn, Essen, Germany would be a pretty nice town if it didn’t suck so much. Under light grey clouds the thin rain drapes the industrial remnants of the Ruhr region’s once booming economy. There are streets and streets of old people; a plethora of distance between anything resembling a decent bar scene and 10 hours a day of technical training.

Who needs it?

Supposedly it’s become a university scene and so I hobbled off after young coeds. I found nothing but smokestacks, pretty foliage, passing traffic and plenty of parking, none of which is a euphemism for young coeds. Nonetheless, plenty of parking is a rarity where I come from. Amsterdam, that is.

Oh well. I guess it can’t all be Barcelona’s and Vienna’s, right?

[…]

Right?

Well. It goddamn ought to be. And why not? All I ask for are some steaming hot coeds and a vodka martini – shaken, not stirred, dammit. I know it’s Europe; get yourself a goddamn shaker, Euro-bars. Is that really too much to ask? Eh, Essen?

Dammit.

At least they have good chocolate and the vodka here is cheap. But that’ll only cut if for so long.

So what could I do after the guitar was played and the fingers were calloused? After the work was done and the streets were scoured? With a head of hair soaked in the hours spent in the heavy mist, a slight sniffle and ears tired of rapid German I snuck a peak at the free download just made available: the 1st issue of Transmetropolitan.

Sweet lord, I’ve been waiting for this for some time now. Did you make this happen? It is too late to join your club?

Oh it is? Too much drinking huh? Oh well. At least W. won’t be there either. Oh, he will? Huh. He got back on the bandwagon, you say? Good for him. What about the killing of all those Iraqi’s?

Muslims don’t count? Really? You’ve got to be shittin’ me. Oh, you are. Just playing, you say? I see.

But how about it? He feels really bad about it? That’s it? That’s all it takes? Yeah, I know he’s otherwise incompetent, but so what? So you can plead insanity on Earth and stupidity in the afterlife? That works?

Jesus Christ. No, no — I’m not actually calling him, just… yeah, I know he’s a busy guy. Look, just forget it, ok? Geez.

–

What about Dick Cheney? Yeah, I thought so. That fucker didn’t have a chance, even with these lax standards you seem to… you what? No, why the fuck should I stop cursing? You already said I’m not allowed in anyways, right? You ain’t the boss of me.

What? Sure you can ask me for a favor. Yeah, it can be off the record (*wink-wink*).

What do you mean by ‘take care of him’? Ok… yeah… oh…

Ohhhh.

… yeah, I guess so. Oh, sure, yeah, no problem. Don’t worry — I’m screwed anyway. I’ll tear him up real good when I get the chance. Yeah, of course: right upside the jaw; I know the drill. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Just you remember this though, if the two sides ever duke it out and I’m left standing.

The hell You say! I have plenty of scrupples (no, you fix that last typo), it’s just that I have my own set. Look, I’m pretty good with words but you’re the Almighty. You wrote The Bible or something, didn’t you? Well whatever. I’m sure you could have if you’d put your mind to it. Me? I write a blog. Yes, people read it! Jerk.

Sorry.

_Well, anyways, the point is I’m in no condition to argue about this, least of all with you. Yeah, I’m sure we’ll speak soon. Yes, I’ll be sure to watch The Daily Show tomorrow. Yeah. Ok. Uhmmhmm. Yeah, ok. Bye.

_

–

Well. At least I’m reading TM now. T and Mo have been talking about this for years, and I finally got around to it. So far so good. Besides, it’s not like a degenerate like me had a prayer’s chance at a wicca gathering to get into heaven anyways. May as well go all the way, you know? Out like a bullet, no control and blind as a bat.

But at least I’ll have read Transmetropolitan.

What did you do today?