A bunch of editors at those quote-unquote respectable publications said that I was a polyp on the anus of independent media. I think that is totally not dope, so I went to Davos! Yeah, it was totally dope. I couldn’t get my agent to fly me there, because he told me that he would buy the ticket after I left his office. I came back a week later, and he had fled the scene. I can’t believe that he abandoned me in my time of need. I didn’t know that doing business out the back of a Turkish restaurant is apparently not a sound business practice. I had to find another way, so I just hung out at the airport. When I was in the terminal, I ran into Robert Scrotal, the famous blogger! He was totally cool, but he acted kinda weird when I sat next to him. It’s not my fault I smelled like pee and retard-stool. When I was in the bathroom, a retard tried to rush to a cupcake I was lifting from the trash, slipped, and landed on me. He hit me with such force that it caused him to release his bowels into my unisex overalls.
When I was talking to Scrotal, he just got more and more pale. eventually, he ran to the bathroom and started ralphing so loud that I could hear it near the Quantas counter. While he was busy, I sorta grabbed his luggage and passport and got on the plane.
l liked the plane ride, because the stewardess hit me so hard that I lost consciousness until we touched down in Switzerland. She decked me just because I asked her if she was up for lingering for a fingering. That’s totally cold. Upon waking up to find that not only was the stewardess gone, but so was half of Scrotal, er my luggage. I picked up what I had left and began my press-bus voyage.
So Davos is a Ski Resort where rich people ski down the Matterhorny. I thought Davos was a Blimpie’s, but in France. I learned a lot that week… even though Davos has sandwiches too. So yeah, in addition to the sandwiches, they also have conferences and banquets… with tacos! I went to a couple of the “break-out” sessions, because I thought that was a preview for a new Chuck Norris movie, but it turned out to be boring old-people stuff with names like “Wealth Maximization Through the Pursuit of Perfect Nash Subgame Equilibrium” and “Strategies for Central Banks and other Stakeholders in repelling the global economic slowdown.” I thought “screw that, I’m looking for a oriental microwave cooking class!”
I tried to find a learning annex room, but I couldn’t find it. I finally gave up and went to the keynote dinner. They had some boring Russian guy named Poot-In who was talking about Gas Prom, which is a dance they have in Moscow every month, but they don’t have it in Ukraine, because chicken Kiev is for Fascists. They made me sit at a table in the corner with Micheal Gross. Mike would not shut the fuck up about the maxi pad commercial he did a few years ago. He just kept talking about freshness and moisture control and how Chuck Mangione replaced him in the commercials. Dude, I don’t even know what a flugelhorn is, but I wanted to hit him with one too.
I got so fed up with his bullshit I went to the taco bar and ate nothing but carrot shavings and then I went to the big vase full of wine at the tasting in the next room and drank the whole thing. Then someone told me it was a spittoon, so I wandered around the hotel drunk for a couple of hours. Apparently, I got so drunk that I broke into the Sultan of Brunei’s room where I proceeded to eat all of his dates, and I ate a couple of Cuban cigars too. The Sultan’s security detail found me throwing up in his laundry hamper, so they dragged me out of the room and left me in the press area after a savage beating. Then the Fourth Estate beat me when they found out that I had stolen Robert Scrotal’s press credentials. Dan Rather looks like a big woman on teevee, but he kicks with steel-toed boots. It wasn’t too bad until Baabwaa Waaters rubbed carpet fresh into my face and burned me with a cigarette. I won’t even go into where Fred Friendly’s cousin plunged Scrotal’s handicam that was in his luggage. All I can say is that it tingles now whenever I go to stickcam.com
So yeah, the Swiss police saved me from the press corps and they put me on a plane back to America. It wasn’t that bad of a trip, and I even have a memento to remember it by. Apparently, during my drunken ramblings one of the hotel cleaning ladies gave me a tattoo that says “Fahrvergnügen” on my right buttock. She forgot the umlaut, but the cigarette burns made the word syntactically correct.
It was the most I ever threw up, and it was the best winter vacation ever!