From Wank to Intercourse via Bras


My trip to London is fully planned and booked, the Clarkson, Hammond and May Live tickets are safe and sound, the flight to London is booked, the hotel has been called and is booked. So far everything appears to work brilliantly. Besides the fact that when I called the hotel to explain that we'd be very late and that our Time of Arrival doesn't really exist in their online form I accidentally cut the L of "land" and ended up saying "end" ...

That awkwardness aside, I started to list places I'd also like to visit in the future. I love London, and I always wanted to visit it. However, I'm not even sad that I'm only going to stay for a weekend. I quite enjoy this. I did the same with Zurich, I visited my friend for a weekend to see if I like the country, the city, the people. I carefully stuck my toe in the water, and yes, I'll be returning in August for a whole week!
It's the same with London, I'll be staying for a weekend, check out the main things, feel the vibe, and when the city calls me back I'll be returning for a week.
 Dump me on a beach and I'll stay for a week at once, but cities are different! They need to be approached carefully.
However, on my list of Places I Want to Visit which doesn't exist in print - if I forget a city it isn't worth my time anyway - there are a few places which are just on there ... well ... how to express this? For unfortunate naming. Depends on your point of view. In my mind it's brilliant naming.

Let me give you an example. Recently, and very much thanks to The Perfect Road Trip I have decided that I need to visit France, more specifically the town Bras. I don't know a lot about it, but on German version of the wiki-article it says that there are very nice hills. Sniggers. from which you can enjoy the view. Of course, that will be the main reason why I go there!
As Bras is in France, I might have to couple it with something else, so that my journey will make more sense to people who think ... well normally. Taking a leaf out of Clarkson's & Hammond's book I might also do a road trip from Nice to Cassis via Bras.

Closer to home and in country that is sometimes known as Australia of Europe; Austria, there is a nippy little town called Sankt Blasen. Which if you know German already tips you off. If you are unfamiliar with the mess that is the German language: The word "blasen" translates as "to blow", which can also have the semantic meaning of ... hmm ... how to put this? Giving someone pleasure using mouths, usually. Yes, that works.
The plans for St. Blasen are going quite well. I have discovered that it is 2 hours and a bit away from where I live, and Spielberg is on the way. Which means I can stop, crawl over a fence and look at a piece of asphalt. Formula 1 fan heaven ... in a way.
Furthermore, my friend has told me that there is a bird museum in St. BlowJob. Not that I care a lot for birds, they're nice. Except that pigeon which makes sounds at 5 AM and is the reason I will get a hunting licence. Aside form that one bird they're cool. This means that it's the perfect cover for driving out there.
"Woman, why did you drive 2 hours to St. Blasen?" 
"You see they have a superbly cool museums and some lake."
"Of course! What else can it be?" 
"Yeah, I love bird! Especially the ones with ... the wings"

This may work brilliantly in the case of St. OralSex. However, I haven't got that cover for the beautiful town of Fucking. It's a dark wish, but I hope that one day something bad happens in the above mentioned town and it makes the international news. Because you can't say ... erm ... that on television.
Fair point, it's pronounced differently. But old habits are hard to break ... There is always this dramatic shot of the villages town sign, and I can't see that happening. Not really.

Double murder in ... a town
The F-town isn't very close. It's about 3 hours in one direction. I could managed it barely on one fuel tank, and play fuel light bingo on the way home. Which I've already done the last time the warning light came on. One can be surprised how much fuel is left once the car says its empty.
Google Maps is even so kind as to suggest that I'd use a tiny areoplane and fly from Vienna to Salzburg. Mmmh, I think that would be a little overkill. If I'd start early I could manage the whole journey in one day.
This also means that I wouldn't have to book a hotel, which would save me the awkward phone conversation calling a hotel the poor person picking up stated "Hallo, Hotel Fucking" and someone laughing endlessly at the other end of the line. That would be me.
I just need a cover story to cover up the most obvious reason why anyone would go to this beautiful town. I heard they make a beer that's called Fucking Hell. I like beer. I like puns. But I don't really like pale lager. For Fucking Braun ... yes ...


Browsing from article to article a question popped into my head: Why do so little people live in these towns? What does this say about the world's sense of humour, where you can't live in a town that includes the British slang term for causing one's self to have pleasure?

I'd jump at a chance to live there! Then again I am the kind of person who is quite willing to spend a fair amount of fuel to visit all those places. I'd like to point out, that I am in fact a legal adult ... except in America. I suppose Intercourse has to wait for a year.



P.S.: Reading the wiki-article on the RoughSex town just confirmed what I've always known: The Daily Reflective Surface is crap!

2 comments :

  1. Imagine having Fucking as your post adress and then making sure that you send lots of international mail :)

    ReplyDelete

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