I was trying to think of some kind of like

foreign correspondent, very spelled in checking in from

Brussels.

I know there's no like war scene in Brussels.

There's no war scene in Brussels.

Yes.

Oh my God.

I can't me this place is a battle ground.

No, Liz, you got to understand this morning in fact last night when I was I was you know sacheing my little ass down the street

Before I got to the street to do my little sass age number in the lobby of this hotel, which by the way,

hotels in Europe are hostels. They are not hotels. They're hostile to you. They're extremely hostile to me.

At the bottom was maybe 40 blokes like British lads, but they're all 50.

And they are... The British tourist is a scourge on this earth. It is crazy. They're

all wearing these like matching kind of long short and like long shirt

combinations they are all balding in ways that I didn't think

hair could do like I didn't know that hair could be in some places and not in other places

in that particular is like camouflage and they are having a pint and a

laugh when I finally get home last night at just midnight not even that way the

street the Belgian road the cobblestone in front of my hotel,

slick with vomited potato. These Brits had come back and just thrown up on Moss to use a French Belgian word

completely an American Tex-Max one

These people are insane. Check for the extent. J next time.

...