Satan’s Halo

So, yesterday I found the place where Satan’s Halo landed. It was in Amsterdam. On the facing of a bar called “The Cock Ring”. I have a photo of myself, worshipping at this fallen astral relic. But that isn’t the beginning of my story.
The story begins at around 4:00 in the afternoon, standing in the check-in line at DFW airport with Elizabeth. We were behind a family from India, and we’re not talking polo wearing, jeans and flip flops kinda Indians either. These were wrap-wearing, card carrying, carpet cleaning beard sportin’ Indians. We were fascinated, of course. And we really felt it was a great omen when the little old Indian grandmother that was with them, took a huge chunk of her dress in hand and flung it over her shoulder, smacking Elizabeth dead in the face. It felt like a sign that things would go right.
And right they did go. Or, as right as they can go on a plane ride for 8 hours with a bitch and a hyper-active elf. Of course, there was a small moment when a petulant spawn was squalling their lungs out, tiny bratty voice cracked with fear and anger, when I thought to myself, “Children are not for force-choking”. But that was a passing moment, I assure you. It was a moment repeated continuously over and over again anytime the plane made noticeable movement. But then we were in Amsterdam!
Now, I have never been to Amsterdam. So, I was amazed. Trains, and tourists, and all sorts of pastries abounded! This was a welcome change from the plane, who had none of the above. We were at least four hours early for the meeting with Elizabeth’s friend, Sterling, so we started out the day on a wander-fest.
I was in the lead, and just following the flow of the energy. I found for myself the giant phallic monument in the middle of Dam square, and a place that sold both maple and chocolate covered waffles, as well as a Japanese man to converse with. And then I felt called, a constant nagging pull to my left side. Wherever I went, I wanted to go left. So, left I went, past ditches and puddles and bicycles and locals, until at last, just beyond a church with a monument to the respect for sex-workers standing outside of it, I found the giant glowing silver ring of sin which marks the beginning of the gay sex district.
With no guidance, no prompts, no concept of the way the city is laid out at all, my feet carried me straight to the doorstep of one of the largest gay sex pits in the world, which stands at the head of one of the largest gay fuck streets in the world. Which is different, I might add, than most “gay-berhoods”. These places, more common in the states, are multi-purpose bastions of liberalism. They have clothing shops, and little cafes, and non-profit organization headquarters on them. No no, Amsterdam has one of these also. I found myself standing on the dedicated streets where only filthy, amoral, no holds barred homosexual copulation occurs. All on my own.
Europe, the Overlord has arrived.

PS- More on Italy tonight!

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~ by dadaniel on March 17, 2009.

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