well i shall tell you the story of the giant turd: we met this joax guy in buenos aires called patric, who shared an intrest in pharmasweeties, and doing as many as possible before he starts his job in NY and get pee tested, graduate of anthropology and the history of economics - interesting brer to chat to ect. anyway, oli was off on a date with the annoying attractive optician he was flirting with the previous day, so i met up with patric, ate some librium and we decided to try and get a massage, mabey with a happy ending. not really wanting to pick up a hooker of the street(a very easy thing to do in buenos aires) we looked on the internet for a late night professional good looking massusus. finding the address we amble along for 10 minutes to arive at this blok of flats of a main road - entering, first impressions.... PROPER BROTHEL: red lights girls walking around naked and some muscel on the door. niether of us speaking excusable spanish, i am starting to the get the fear. (prostetution is not legal like in dam). proptly eat another librium. we manage to communicat that we only want a massage - no sex -no robery - no sodomy please. all good. patric went first. i was sitting in this room with nothing in it apart from blacklights a dounble bed and posters of tigers and waterfalls, listning to the ambient music the were piping in, sitting with my fags and bottle of tequila and lemonada i had made before leaving the hostel. feeling pretty good........NEED TO POO. OH SHIT!! pardon, donde esta el baņo?? - ocupado shit, shit shit. i wait, i wait then repeat myself. finaly, the bathroom is vaccant - i can relieve myself, i think to myself. go in and lay the turd that ive been waiting to do for days. it was horrific. i finish look down at my triumph and realize that not only does the chain not work, but there is no water at all in the entire toilet system! shit! try and communicate with one of the girls that the baņo esta no bueno. odd look, and then i scuttle back to the room i was previously waiting in, wondering if the will kill me and symoltaniously chuccling to myself under the influence of bezoez safe in the knowledge that i, have soiled a brothel. - something to tell the grankids. got my massage. was very nice. went home, showered and slept like a baby: good night. thus is the story of the turd and the brothel.
other stories gathered from jack are of him and his mate oli 'playing' with throwing blades, one hitting jack slightly in the leg, which prompted him to quickly buy a walking stick. Gave him a limp for a bit.
And one night jack wrote his mother an email, basically saying he was planning to delve into the heart of darkness (aka a jungle or something) to live off the land, with nothing but a rifle on his back. He wasn't lying or anything, but he came back 2 days later, cold, and hungry. Meanwhile we hear that his mum was going apeshit.
Just bought my ticket to Cuba for March 15th so everyone is invited to drinks before then.
-Sol
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