Wednesday, January 05, 2005
Proud to be an American
Here I am! Did you all miss me? Did you think I would come back speaking German and only eating schnitzel? Did you think that I decided to go the route of most Europeans and cut my hair into a faux hawk? Well, I didn’t quite do that, but I did come back a little changed. For example, I think I gained 36 pounds by eating my face off in every country I visited. I also think my liver is about ready to crawl out of my ass and flush itself down the toilet. I mean, when a carafe of wine is cheaper than a can of soda, you’d be STUPID not to guzzle it at every meal. But I am getting ahead of myself. I had the most amazing time of my life. Sure, there were moments when I thought “Is this ever going to end?”, but those moments were few and far between and I think I did a good job of keeping up with all of the walking, bus riding, metro taking, and non-stop airplane flying that I had to do in the last 10 days.
First we went to Germany to spend Christmas with my brother and his girlfriend. My brother’s apartment is in Idar-Oberstein and of course it is one of the most gorgeous places I’ve ever seen. Spiral staircase leading to the second floor? Two bathrooms? If he hadn’t been in Iraq for 18 months, I’d surely be a jealous, but ever so cute, monster. While in the land of Deutch we took a day trip to Trier to see the Christmas festivals and to eat doners (doners rhymes with boners and that made me love them even more) and of course, schnitzels. The weather was warm, but I found the people to be a little bit cold. Germany’s countryside is beautiful; replete with rolling hills and dark green grass. The people on the other hand were pretty…how do you say...unattractive? However, for the duration of my trip, I think I only saw about 3 overweight people (myself not included). Yet every time we would run into an American, they would be shoving their face with McDonalds and slobbering all over themselves. So we may be a pretty country, but we are surely a fatter country. Christmas itself was wonderful. It took us five hours to open up all of the presents that were under the tree. Tears were shed and hearts warmed and Paul told me that it was “by far the best Christmas he has ever had”. In one special moment, my mom gave Paul this tiny framed picture that used to belong to my beloved and dearly departed Gramma. I’ve never seen Paul so emotionally moved by a gift in my life. On the flip side, I got an ipod (finally), a new digi (digital camera for you lamos), a Gucci watch, tickets to Hairspray, and various other fantastic items. And when I say fantastic, I mean a karaoke machine! ROCK! Anyone want to come over for a solo performance of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat?
My brother has a dog that is the size of a gorilla, so while I loved being around an animal again, I found myself being pinned to the floor and humped at every turn. Also, we had the best tasting ham for dinner on Christmas, but I didn’t realize at the time that it would be a foreshadowing of all of the ham I would be chowing on for the rest of the week. Everywhere we went we somehow ended up eating ham. Ham sandwiches, ham kabobs, ham cordon blue, ham jello. It was all very hammy.
As all of you should know, the tsunamis hit the day after Christmas and considering that the only American television station that we could get was CNN International, I watched hours and hours and hours of horrifying footage of all of the poor victims of this tragedy. I am still recovering from the horror of it all. Very VERY sad and it made the whole vacation seem that much more fragile and important.
On the Monday after Christmas, Paul and I flew to Barcelona. What a trip that was. MY GOD I LOVE BARCELONA! Well, to be honest, when we first arrived at our hostel, I sat down on the bed and cried. I was so intimidated and overwhelmed by the whole experience and I just wanted to come home; culture shock to the extreme. Paul immediately sat down and put his arm around me. “I know how you feel Joe. It’s how I felt when I left the country for the first time. It will get easier and I’ll be here to take care of everything for you.” It was shortly after that that we had the best sex of our relationship. Well, maybe not the BEST, but my dick was surely chaffed after that experience.
Whilst in Barcelona, Paul and I ate out at Gay restaurants and met some really nice (but not very cute) gay people. We had drinks with them and they informed us of all the cool clubs to hit while in town. They were so helpful and the drinks and food was bizamb! Before I forget…be reminded that the Euro stomped the American dollar while we were there so in most places, one Euro equaled $1.70 in US currency. Eeps! Good thing Paul has lots more money than I do. He paid for virtually everything and usually without a fuss. (So what if I wanted a McDonald’s cheeseburger after an expensive three course meal…I’m an American!)
As we were walking to the big gay club, Paul and I had to piss so badly. We whipped out our dicks and pissed behind a dumpster on the road. As I was pulling up my zipper, a police siren goes off and LA POLICIA pulls up next to us. They jump out of the car and are like “aleirrrrrreoia;jdidaolierrrrrrr”. At least, that’s what it sounded like since my Spanish is at the level of a 6th grader. They screamed at us and sat me in the back of the cop car. I was so scared that my ass sphincter was constricting and un-constricting over and over. It literally took all of my self-control to keep from shitting down my leg. Paul was trying to get them to leave us alone and they just kept pointing at the piss on the ground and screaming “NO NO NO!”. Eventually they asked Paul in English “How much money you got?” I’m like “WHAAAAAAAAA? We’re not giving you any money!” The police got even more pissed at that and eventually the situation became a Mexican standoff. Or…actually…a Spaniard standoff. After about 15 minutes, they gave up and said something nasty to us in Spanish and drove away. My limbs shook uncontrollably until we got to the club.
At the club, this old gay dude pulls out a joint and offers it to Paul and me. Having not smoked for the entire trip, that joint looked as though it had floated down from the heavens. I ripped it out of the old gay dude’s hands and puffed it like a mad man. Unfortunately, it was mixed with tobacco, so it was the weakest and most ineffective joint I’ve ever smoked. LAME. However, I was so happy that he offered us the joint that I bought him a drink. He ordered (what seemed to be) a vodka red bull, so I asked for one too. When I sipped on it, I about puked on myself. It was actually a WHISKEY red bull. SICK! I gave it to Paul who is the human dumpster and will drink anything.
We danced for a long time and I laughed and laughed when Kelis’s “Milkshake” came on and all of these dudes in their broken English were going “Milkshake brings boys yard, they like better yars”. After a couple hours of dancing and me going up to some muscle dude and rubbing his arm tattoo for way too long, I grabbed Paul by the hand and walked us out of the club. Before we reached the door, my drunk and sometimes alcoholic boyfriend ripped his hand away and ran back into the club for another drink. Pissed off, I hailed a cab and went home. I had no idea where I was in the city, yet the cab driver and I both burst out laughing when he pulled up three blocks and dropped me off at the door to the hostel. UM. I’m dumb.
I waited for two hours for Paul to come home and since I was half asleep and delirious when he walked in the door, I demanded “Where is my boyfriend?!” Paul says “I’m right here!” And then I scream “NO! Where is my boyfriend PAUL!?” Paul laughs and says “Right here!” I respond with “Then where are my fucking parents?” and pass out.
The next day we were BOTH very hung-over and spent most of the day down at beautiful Port Vell. There were tons of street performers and the weather was just about 65 and sunny. It was the most gorgeous day ever and I loved walking around with Paul and eating some of the best seafood of my life. After a few days, Paul and I flew to Paris and spent the New Year there with my parents and brother. We saw a bunch of the sights and ate and drank way too much again. The highlight had to be New Year’s Eve. All of us went to this incredible Parisian dinner and then bought forties and found a spot underneath the Eiffel Tower. The weather was perfect and warm and the Tower looked unreal at night. The whole thing looked like a giant sparkler on the Fourth of July. It was damn awesome.
There was so much pot smoking going on around us and I was itching to smoke really badly. I offered this French dude a couple Euros for a hit off his blunt and he said “no”. I don’t think he understood what I was trying to say to him since he looked at me as though I was a complete moron for the duration of our “conversation”. Twenty minutes later I see Paul try to kiss my mother. I’m like “SICK!” My mom goes to give him a peck back and Paul blows a mouth load of pot into her face. While this would be something that would freak most moms out, my mom’s face lit up and she goes “Give me some!” My mom took a few puffs and then I finagled some for myself. Ten minutes after that and the three of us are out of our damned minds. I swear…I’ve smoked a LOT of weed in my time, but this shit was the BEST I’ve EVER had!
Paul’s nickname became “Paranoid Schizophrenia” since he was a crazy person running around and hiding from everything and everyone. “Do any of you understand that this place is DANGEROUS! We could get KILLED!” My mom became “Spaghetti Legs” as she was literally falling all over herself for the remainder of the night. I would look over at her and her legs would be shaking uncontrollably. “Mom, are you dancing?” “No Joe, just trying to keep my balance.” “I see.” My nickname was “About to have a heart attack” since my chest was bursting out of my…well…chest. I also had the classic shooting pains down my left arm. “I love PARIS ON NEW YEARS! Does anyone have an aspirin for my heart attack?” It was one of the best nights of my life and bringing in the New Year with my boyfriend under the Eiffel Tower is something that I’ll never forget for the rest of my life.
We took the Metro home that night and it was crowded with a bunch of crazy people. Once inside our hotel room, Paul and I ate 3 baguettes and 2 blocks of cheese and called it a night. The rest of the trip was filled with more sightseeing, more dinners and more drinks. By the time Paul and I flew back on Sunday, we were wiped out. I’m talking wiped and I’m talking out.
I was so tired of non-English speaking people that when a German lady at the airport scoffed at me for eating French fries with my fingers, I shot her a devil glare and made a clicking noise with my mouth. That will teach YOU for messing with the almighty American. Ha.
Our flight home was 9 long hours. We flew on Lufthansa and while it was a nice airplane, I thought the seats were uncomfortable and the food sucked my ball sac. Except for the vegetarian pizza they served us during the last half hour of the flight. I could have eaten 7 of those bitches. The two movies they showed us were Around the World in 80 Snores. I didn’t even attempt to watch that shit. But on the way back they showed Taxi with Queen Lateefs and Jimmy Fallon. After 20 minutes, my deep ceded hatred for Jimmy Fallon surfaced and my disappointment in Lateefs took control and I ripped the headphones out of the socket and chose to watch the clouds instead of the movie. Fuck you Luthansa. And fuck you too Jimmy Fallon of my hatred.
When Paul and I arrived at home, I was disappointed to find out that one of my last two remaining hamsters had passed away. My good friend Kelly had checked in on them and disposed of the body so I wouldn’t have to walk in to the stench of death. My favorite and long time hamster friend Jim is still alive and doing well. Thank God. He’s my little man and I hope to send him to a really good college when he gets old enough.
On the last day of our vacation, Paul and I cleaned the apartment from the top of the rafters to the bottoms of the toilet. We decorated and made it more of a home. Now when I walk into our pad, I feel warm and happy and like it’s a place I never want to leave. I was wondering if that feeling would ever hit and it finally has.
Not to leave out the sights I saw while on vacation, here is a brief rundown for those of you who are into that kind of thing (personally I just like to eat and play cards…who cares about history anyway?):
The most moving structure I saw was “La Sagrada Familia” in Spain. It is the most massive and beautiful church I’ve ever seen in my life. The story behind it is quite interesting, but I don’t feel like getting into it. Basically the guy who created it got hit by a train and his life ended abruptly. The end.
I was a big fan of the Notre Dame cathedral. You see, what happened was…we were in line to enter the church, but I was so hungry for a hotdog with CHEESE ON IT that Paul and I left the line to get one. By the time we got back, my parents had already walked in. Rather than go to the back of the line, we cut in front of everyone and entered at our leisure. There were tons of irritated Europeans making remarks, but it was my last day in Paris and I just didn’t care anymore. I smiled and walked around oblivious to their catcalls.
We went to Luxembourg and basically walked around the entire city. The architecture was fascinating. The food was out of this world as well. But eventually my feet fell off from all the walking and I had to sit down for awhile. That’s the most exciting story I have about that country.
The Louvre was closed on the day that Paul and I went so we took pictures of the outside and imagined what the Mona Lisa and Venus De Milo would have looked like up close. In my mind they were very exceptional pieces of artwork and I pictured the Venus De Milo with a dick.
I enjoyed the Arc de Triompf and the Champs de Elysees. I kissed Paul under the Arc and then we had more ham sandwiches.
Other than that, we did a LOT of walking and looking and listening to historical stories and the like. I’m super glad to be home and I am ever so grateful for being able to have this experience. I may come across as smarmy and unappreciative, but deep down, I truly am. Grateful, not smarmy, you ass. Having never left the country prior to this trip, I feel as though my mind has opened up to new cultures and particular ways of life. I’m proud to be from the United States, more so than ever. I love our country and I love what we stand for as Americans. I may disagree and personally despise the president, but he is not the only representative that we have that matters. The people of this country are its foundation, its stronghold, and its future.
When the police officer at the passport checkpoint said “Welcome home Mr. CuttheShit”, I beamed with pride and relief. It’s never felt so good to be here.
Here I am! Did you all miss me? Did you think I would come back speaking German and only eating schnitzel? Did you think that I decided to go the route of most Europeans and cut my hair into a faux hawk? Well, I didn’t quite do that, but I did come back a little changed. For example, I think I gained 36 pounds by eating my face off in every country I visited. I also think my liver is about ready to crawl out of my ass and flush itself down the toilet. I mean, when a carafe of wine is cheaper than a can of soda, you’d be STUPID not to guzzle it at every meal. But I am getting ahead of myself. I had the most amazing time of my life. Sure, there were moments when I thought “Is this ever going to end?”, but those moments were few and far between and I think I did a good job of keeping up with all of the walking, bus riding, metro taking, and non-stop airplane flying that I had to do in the last 10 days.
First we went to Germany to spend Christmas with my brother and his girlfriend. My brother’s apartment is in Idar-Oberstein and of course it is one of the most gorgeous places I’ve ever seen. Spiral staircase leading to the second floor? Two bathrooms? If he hadn’t been in Iraq for 18 months, I’d surely be a jealous, but ever so cute, monster. While in the land of Deutch we took a day trip to Trier to see the Christmas festivals and to eat doners (doners rhymes with boners and that made me love them even more) and of course, schnitzels. The weather was warm, but I found the people to be a little bit cold. Germany’s countryside is beautiful; replete with rolling hills and dark green grass. The people on the other hand were pretty…how do you say...unattractive? However, for the duration of my trip, I think I only saw about 3 overweight people (myself not included). Yet every time we would run into an American, they would be shoving their face with McDonalds and slobbering all over themselves. So we may be a pretty country, but we are surely a fatter country. Christmas itself was wonderful. It took us five hours to open up all of the presents that were under the tree. Tears were shed and hearts warmed and Paul told me that it was “by far the best Christmas he has ever had”. In one special moment, my mom gave Paul this tiny framed picture that used to belong to my beloved and dearly departed Gramma. I’ve never seen Paul so emotionally moved by a gift in my life. On the flip side, I got an ipod (finally), a new digi (digital camera for you lamos), a Gucci watch, tickets to Hairspray, and various other fantastic items. And when I say fantastic, I mean a karaoke machine! ROCK! Anyone want to come over for a solo performance of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat?
My brother has a dog that is the size of a gorilla, so while I loved being around an animal again, I found myself being pinned to the floor and humped at every turn. Also, we had the best tasting ham for dinner on Christmas, but I didn’t realize at the time that it would be a foreshadowing of all of the ham I would be chowing on for the rest of the week. Everywhere we went we somehow ended up eating ham. Ham sandwiches, ham kabobs, ham cordon blue, ham jello. It was all very hammy.
As all of you should know, the tsunamis hit the day after Christmas and considering that the only American television station that we could get was CNN International, I watched hours and hours and hours of horrifying footage of all of the poor victims of this tragedy. I am still recovering from the horror of it all. Very VERY sad and it made the whole vacation seem that much more fragile and important.
On the Monday after Christmas, Paul and I flew to Barcelona. What a trip that was. MY GOD I LOVE BARCELONA! Well, to be honest, when we first arrived at our hostel, I sat down on the bed and cried. I was so intimidated and overwhelmed by the whole experience and I just wanted to come home; culture shock to the extreme. Paul immediately sat down and put his arm around me. “I know how you feel Joe. It’s how I felt when I left the country for the first time. It will get easier and I’ll be here to take care of everything for you.” It was shortly after that that we had the best sex of our relationship. Well, maybe not the BEST, but my dick was surely chaffed after that experience.
Whilst in Barcelona, Paul and I ate out at Gay restaurants and met some really nice (but not very cute) gay people. We had drinks with them and they informed us of all the cool clubs to hit while in town. They were so helpful and the drinks and food was bizamb! Before I forget…be reminded that the Euro stomped the American dollar while we were there so in most places, one Euro equaled $1.70 in US currency. Eeps! Good thing Paul has lots more money than I do. He paid for virtually everything and usually without a fuss. (So what if I wanted a McDonald’s cheeseburger after an expensive three course meal…I’m an American!)
As we were walking to the big gay club, Paul and I had to piss so badly. We whipped out our dicks and pissed behind a dumpster on the road. As I was pulling up my zipper, a police siren goes off and LA POLICIA pulls up next to us. They jump out of the car and are like “aleirrrrrreoia;jdidaolierrrrrrr”. At least, that’s what it sounded like since my Spanish is at the level of a 6th grader. They screamed at us and sat me in the back of the cop car. I was so scared that my ass sphincter was constricting and un-constricting over and over. It literally took all of my self-control to keep from shitting down my leg. Paul was trying to get them to leave us alone and they just kept pointing at the piss on the ground and screaming “NO NO NO!”. Eventually they asked Paul in English “How much money you got?” I’m like “WHAAAAAAAAA? We’re not giving you any money!” The police got even more pissed at that and eventually the situation became a Mexican standoff. Or…actually…a Spaniard standoff. After about 15 minutes, they gave up and said something nasty to us in Spanish and drove away. My limbs shook uncontrollably until we got to the club.
At the club, this old gay dude pulls out a joint and offers it to Paul and me. Having not smoked for the entire trip, that joint looked as though it had floated down from the heavens. I ripped it out of the old gay dude’s hands and puffed it like a mad man. Unfortunately, it was mixed with tobacco, so it was the weakest and most ineffective joint I’ve ever smoked. LAME. However, I was so happy that he offered us the joint that I bought him a drink. He ordered (what seemed to be) a vodka red bull, so I asked for one too. When I sipped on it, I about puked on myself. It was actually a WHISKEY red bull. SICK! I gave it to Paul who is the human dumpster and will drink anything.
We danced for a long time and I laughed and laughed when Kelis’s “Milkshake” came on and all of these dudes in their broken English were going “Milkshake brings boys yard, they like better yars”. After a couple hours of dancing and me going up to some muscle dude and rubbing his arm tattoo for way too long, I grabbed Paul by the hand and walked us out of the club. Before we reached the door, my drunk and sometimes alcoholic boyfriend ripped his hand away and ran back into the club for another drink. Pissed off, I hailed a cab and went home. I had no idea where I was in the city, yet the cab driver and I both burst out laughing when he pulled up three blocks and dropped me off at the door to the hostel. UM. I’m dumb.
I waited for two hours for Paul to come home and since I was half asleep and delirious when he walked in the door, I demanded “Where is my boyfriend?!” Paul says “I’m right here!” And then I scream “NO! Where is my boyfriend PAUL!?” Paul laughs and says “Right here!” I respond with “Then where are my fucking parents?” and pass out.
The next day we were BOTH very hung-over and spent most of the day down at beautiful Port Vell. There were tons of street performers and the weather was just about 65 and sunny. It was the most gorgeous day ever and I loved walking around with Paul and eating some of the best seafood of my life. After a few days, Paul and I flew to Paris and spent the New Year there with my parents and brother. We saw a bunch of the sights and ate and drank way too much again. The highlight had to be New Year’s Eve. All of us went to this incredible Parisian dinner and then bought forties and found a spot underneath the Eiffel Tower. The weather was perfect and warm and the Tower looked unreal at night. The whole thing looked like a giant sparkler on the Fourth of July. It was damn awesome.
There was so much pot smoking going on around us and I was itching to smoke really badly. I offered this French dude a couple Euros for a hit off his blunt and he said “no”. I don’t think he understood what I was trying to say to him since he looked at me as though I was a complete moron for the duration of our “conversation”. Twenty minutes later I see Paul try to kiss my mother. I’m like “SICK!” My mom goes to give him a peck back and Paul blows a mouth load of pot into her face. While this would be something that would freak most moms out, my mom’s face lit up and she goes “Give me some!” My mom took a few puffs and then I finagled some for myself. Ten minutes after that and the three of us are out of our damned minds. I swear…I’ve smoked a LOT of weed in my time, but this shit was the BEST I’ve EVER had!
Paul’s nickname became “Paranoid Schizophrenia” since he was a crazy person running around and hiding from everything and everyone. “Do any of you understand that this place is DANGEROUS! We could get KILLED!” My mom became “Spaghetti Legs” as she was literally falling all over herself for the remainder of the night. I would look over at her and her legs would be shaking uncontrollably. “Mom, are you dancing?” “No Joe, just trying to keep my balance.” “I see.” My nickname was “About to have a heart attack” since my chest was bursting out of my…well…chest. I also had the classic shooting pains down my left arm. “I love PARIS ON NEW YEARS! Does anyone have an aspirin for my heart attack?” It was one of the best nights of my life and bringing in the New Year with my boyfriend under the Eiffel Tower is something that I’ll never forget for the rest of my life.
We took the Metro home that night and it was crowded with a bunch of crazy people. Once inside our hotel room, Paul and I ate 3 baguettes and 2 blocks of cheese and called it a night. The rest of the trip was filled with more sightseeing, more dinners and more drinks. By the time Paul and I flew back on Sunday, we were wiped out. I’m talking wiped and I’m talking out.
I was so tired of non-English speaking people that when a German lady at the airport scoffed at me for eating French fries with my fingers, I shot her a devil glare and made a clicking noise with my mouth. That will teach YOU for messing with the almighty American. Ha.
Our flight home was 9 long hours. We flew on Lufthansa and while it was a nice airplane, I thought the seats were uncomfortable and the food sucked my ball sac. Except for the vegetarian pizza they served us during the last half hour of the flight. I could have eaten 7 of those bitches. The two movies they showed us were Around the World in 80 Snores. I didn’t even attempt to watch that shit. But on the way back they showed Taxi with Queen Lateefs and Jimmy Fallon. After 20 minutes, my deep ceded hatred for Jimmy Fallon surfaced and my disappointment in Lateefs took control and I ripped the headphones out of the socket and chose to watch the clouds instead of the movie. Fuck you Luthansa. And fuck you too Jimmy Fallon of my hatred.
When Paul and I arrived at home, I was disappointed to find out that one of my last two remaining hamsters had passed away. My good friend Kelly had checked in on them and disposed of the body so I wouldn’t have to walk in to the stench of death. My favorite and long time hamster friend Jim is still alive and doing well. Thank God. He’s my little man and I hope to send him to a really good college when he gets old enough.
On the last day of our vacation, Paul and I cleaned the apartment from the top of the rafters to the bottoms of the toilet. We decorated and made it more of a home. Now when I walk into our pad, I feel warm and happy and like it’s a place I never want to leave. I was wondering if that feeling would ever hit and it finally has.
Not to leave out the sights I saw while on vacation, here is a brief rundown for those of you who are into that kind of thing (personally I just like to eat and play cards…who cares about history anyway?):
The most moving structure I saw was “La Sagrada Familia” in Spain. It is the most massive and beautiful church I’ve ever seen in my life. The story behind it is quite interesting, but I don’t feel like getting into it. Basically the guy who created it got hit by a train and his life ended abruptly. The end.
I was a big fan of the Notre Dame cathedral. You see, what happened was…we were in line to enter the church, but I was so hungry for a hotdog with CHEESE ON IT that Paul and I left the line to get one. By the time we got back, my parents had already walked in. Rather than go to the back of the line, we cut in front of everyone and entered at our leisure. There were tons of irritated Europeans making remarks, but it was my last day in Paris and I just didn’t care anymore. I smiled and walked around oblivious to their catcalls.
We went to Luxembourg and basically walked around the entire city. The architecture was fascinating. The food was out of this world as well. But eventually my feet fell off from all the walking and I had to sit down for awhile. That’s the most exciting story I have about that country.
The Louvre was closed on the day that Paul and I went so we took pictures of the outside and imagined what the Mona Lisa and Venus De Milo would have looked like up close. In my mind they were very exceptional pieces of artwork and I pictured the Venus De Milo with a dick.
I enjoyed the Arc de Triompf and the Champs de Elysees. I kissed Paul under the Arc and then we had more ham sandwiches.
Other than that, we did a LOT of walking and looking and listening to historical stories and the like. I’m super glad to be home and I am ever so grateful for being able to have this experience. I may come across as smarmy and unappreciative, but deep down, I truly am. Grateful, not smarmy, you ass. Having never left the country prior to this trip, I feel as though my mind has opened up to new cultures and particular ways of life. I’m proud to be from the United States, more so than ever. I love our country and I love what we stand for as Americans. I may disagree and personally despise the president, but he is not the only representative that we have that matters. The people of this country are its foundation, its stronghold, and its future.
When the police officer at the passport checkpoint said “Welcome home Mr. CuttheShit”, I beamed with pride and relief. It’s never felt so good to be here.
