The Great Harada, once again the smartest man in the world, got six in the ESA.

The most drizzly, comedy situation, the tumor, comedy chain located right here, conveniently,

an Amsterdam and then not near a goddamn thing district.

It's a good 10-minute cab ride toward civilization from this place.

There's also an Eastern European cold war gate that swings open if you drive in and attacks your car here,

where they allow you into the hotel. I had to show my papers when I came in tonight.

There's a guy in a white UN helmet. It's quite a situation here.

It's been raining like the day Jesus fucking died here all day long off and on.

For a while it was sunny. That was just to lull you into a false sense of security

before a gale forest wind whipped up your wet ass.

We went into the museum today. Well, we didn't go to a museum.

One of the great pleasures of Amsterdam, aside from the fact that marijuana is sold adult-style in regular stores

and you don't need to show a medicinal card or any type of identification whatsoever.

All you have to do is show up without a baseball hat to assure everyone that you're not a douchebag

and that you're not in charge of the douchebag patrol for the rest of Europe

or that you're not on some wild bachelor party full of Irish guys who've never been high before

but can drink all the alcohol on the earth and then take two hits of a hash-laced tobacco joint

and end up drinking out of the fucking hearing grogged and trying to hump a bike at a fucking stand for like half an hour,

mistaking it because of the red light for another area.

That's one of the joys of Amsterdam. The other one is of course the treacherousness of the streets of Amsterdam.

They're made of cobbles. They get wet. There's leaves on them. You fall into a hole. You die. No one finds you.

And there's no such thing as the police or law here in Amsterdam.

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