Kielbasa of the Damned.

Hi there. My name is Josh Harris, and I've learned my lesson. I've learned my lesson not to eat ten-day-old unrefrigerated Hungarian spicy sausage. For the life of me I wanted to sally forth and watch the miracles of Czech hockey, but here's how my day went. My day didn't start until noon. I didn't sleep last night, because, in the interests of intercultural exchange, I taught a whole bunch of Italians and French folks how to play American card drinking games. En processe, I discovered that Italians cannot hold their liquor. All eight of them left drunk as skunks at 3:30 am, and I turned in their bottles for deposit money. Finders keepers, one would think, but because I'm a good sport, I used the money to buy them a round the next day and give them a good-natured ribbing. At any rate, noon befell me, sunlight and all, and I ate about half of this...sausage of the ancients. An hour later, I had a fever and was dizzy, sweating, and doing things to my bowels that would be best omitted from this blog. I didn't feel human again until about eight, when I had a fantastic meal. I'd never had roasted leg of rabbit before, but it was fantastic, ENORMOUS, and reasonably priced. I figure if I'm only averaging 1.5 meals a day, I might as well do those 1.5 right (Hungarian sausage excepted). In order to lead into the rest of the day's events, I'd like to wax philosophical for a moment.

I would really like to think that I'm doing America proud. I'm doing my damnedest to be inconspicuous, respectful, unobtrusive, and observant. And, at least in comparison to my countrymen, I think I'm probably doing a good job. I have become acquainted with two Americans from my hostel. They're a pair of baseball players from California. Read..."BASEball players." They're disgraceful. They're vile and have neither brains nor respect for women nor non-Americans. I've been babysitting the hell out of them, but tonight I figured it was time they recieved a comeuppance of some sort or another. So when the Jamaicans who sell pot and entice unwitting foreigners to come to the tourist-trappy titty bar accosted these gentlemen, I just stood back and watched. I thought it was time for them to learn their lesson. They're presumably still at yon Gomorrah, so more on that story as it develops. One of the Americans in question was especially excited about the free (green) sample which our...hmm...mountebank...yes, mountebank, Victor gave him. At that point Josh said "okay, these guys have crossed the stupidity line. Anything that happens from here, they have brought upon themselves." I stopped at a neighborhood bar, worked on my Czech, and here I am.
Earlier in the day I had an interesting encounter with a drunken Dutchman in the streets of Prague. I was out with my most recent company (six Italian guys and four French girls), and we all thought it would be fun to play with him a little and pretend we were of different nationalities. Most failed, but when I told him "Ya zhe Rossisskii chelovek," he believed me, but said with an inflection of utter puzzlement, "well, I'll be damned. You look Irish." Biggest complement I've gotten all week--granted, it's only Monday, but still...he complemented my language skills and my freckly good looks all at the same time. I'll be damned. So, assuming that there's no such thing as a food poisoning hangover, I'll be at least WATCHING the ice tomorrow. I also need to go camera shopping, which, I'm sure, will be a depressing endeavor, since electronics are fuck-all expensive here. Wish me luck and send me comments.

love for all, hugs for most, kisses for some.

America's #1 hooker deterrent,

J. Brandon Harris (because that other Josh Harris was a total wuss)