Thursday, May 15, 2008
The Eurobag
Ah, the Eurobag.
That greasy Austrian hair gelled scrote with the annoying boutique hotel lobby accent.
That awkward friend of a friend you’re forced to talk to at the party who smells vaguely like Tuscan butter cremes and leaves oil stains on the sofa.
That creepy club-going “tourist” who hasn’t had a job in two years and spends his nights trolling for American hotts who dig his accent and want to go back to his place and listen to selections of German techno band, Luftwaften, mashed with the Norwegian death metal stylings of Gorgoroth.
But what’s that?
Is Amelia smuggling something out under her dress? Are the Cossacks invading, looking for Prussians?
