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PolkOut.com is up and swingin' again! ...did anyone even notice we were gone?
Forum Update: The forum looks awesome now! Big thanks to my friend Alex! Post in the new forum: www.PolkOut.com/forum. It's hosted on my server, and if that starts getting laggy in the future I can just pay for more bandwidth. Any artistic contribution to the forum would be terrific. You can still check out the old forum, and older pages will still link to it for now, so... uh... do whatever with that intel. Quick shit for newcomers: Forum (deviant bullshit), Feedback (fan art, comments, critiques), About (check it out and contribute). Do you have a website of your own you want me to give a shout out to? Want to do a crazy guest strip? You can reach me through that email or on the forums. Upcoming Fan Art Showcase: Whenever I get a substantial amount of fan art (we've got a few submissions on the forum) I'll dedicate a whole update to fan submissions. Go nuts, lets see some creativity and experimentation with style. Guest comic guidelines are in the forum.
Instead of recounting my 'adventures' from scratch, for the sake of time, authenticity, and my own sanity, I will plunder forum posts I made during my trip, emails I sent, and notes I took, interspersed with random photographs.
Thursday, March 19th:
That's what my colon looked like after two days of baguettes, cheese (especially fondue, the drippy menace), and Nutella. You know you've reached a low point when you begin contemplating how much it'd cost to get a hooker to feltch this stuff out of you.
8:49 am email correspondence:
3:53 pm Forum:
9:15 pm Forum:
This is the closest my cock got to a mouth all trip.
Friday, March 20th: 10:16 am Forum:
Boner? Boner?! Boner!
Saturday, March 21st:
Last night K and I dicked around the Louvre, looking at random
paintings and sculptures--among them the Mona Lisa and the Venus
de Milo. We agreed that we didn't particularly understand why
these two pieces are such marvelous spectacles when there are
other works, by the same artist or by contemporaneous artists (I
don't think anyone knows who made the Venue) which are just as
good, if not better. I concluded that they were like the memes of
their time--the Mona Lisa was the lolcat of the 16th century...
which I guess says a lot about how culture has gone to shit
(if PolkOut weren't enough of
an indication)
There were all these paintings of Jesus, porcelain skinned, brown
haired, hanging out with his buddies, wearing traditional Roman
garb, doing traditional Roman things. Like he was buddies with
the Romans the whole time... there was one painting where it was
this big hall with twisted pillars, a menorah in the center, and
this dude dressed as the pope circumcising Jesus. Like the
painter acknowledged that Jesus was Jewish but all he knew about
Jews was, ''uh... they cut their dicks, right? And, like... there
are candelabras and shit... right?''
I thought the imagery was pretty fucked up, considering what the
Bible really is at heart; whether or not Jesus actually existed
(which is a pretty contested claim; the evidence is specious) but
the Bible is, or was back when its original authors got through
it, a tool of dissent. At least that's one possible rationale;
the accounts don't have to be consistent and the elements need to
be fantastical because it was an age when the masses didn't read
or write essays or grand philosophical treatises; there were
intellectual debates, sure, but how far did that permeate into the
mainstream? Fables and stories were what conveyed
concepts, through anecdote, and the Bible was no different. If
you read the gospels you see some pretty blatant criticisms of
organized religion, of organized Judaism and its strict ritualism
and de-emphasis on personal spirituality. That's really what the
Bible is all about; it's not ''believe in Jesus and be saved'', as
a lot of people preach it nowadays, but rather ''find salvation on
a personal level''. It's meant to be intellectually intimate.
And then what happened? According to the narrative, the Romans
captured him and killed him in a pretty gruesome way. Fast
forward a few hundred years and the perpetrators (who, at this
point had stopped asking questions as to whether or not Christ was
real and accepted that they, or their predecessors, had more than
likely killed him (though they preferred to diffuse said
responsibility)) have written themselves into the fiction; yeah,
Jesus was our buddy, we were really close, went fishing all the
time. And this spiritual movement that was meant to undermine
organized religion and ritualism--essentially the equivalent of
libertarianism of its time--is the heart of a vast new spiritual
empire, based on precisely that. Heretics are executed,
drowned and burned and whatever else they could fathom, but not
crucified. That'd be too ironic.
As they started shooing us out at 9:45 (museum closes at 10
because all of Paris, or at least the white people parts, have a
strict 10:30 curfew) so K and I started singing Eagles songs
together as we strolled out (Take it easy... take it easy... don't
let the sound of your own wheels drive you craaaAAAaaazy...'' We
felt really American in a particularly awesome way.
And then we walked around a lot, for about an hour and a half, got
kinda lost, met some strangers on the metro who just so happened
to be our age, American, and staying at the same hostel. I
bought a liter and a half of Diet Coke, or as the Europeans call
it CocaCola Light, and drank most of it. It's a weird
thought... I drink a liter of coke and my pee is crystal clear...
the blackness stays in me...
What the fuck, Orangina?! Sunday, March 22nd:
11:30 pm email correspondence:
We're going to Barcelona tomorrow afternoon, our flight's at 5:50
I think. Yesterday we went to the Orsay, which was stocked with
lots of impressionist paintings (which I think are boring, since
they're all landscapes of boats in harbors and fields full of
flowers, none of which illuminates anything deeply intellectual or
spiritual or emotional--they're about as provocative (or even
evocative) as the paintings in my dentist's office. Though
Van Gogh is awesome because, at least in my opinion, he was a
miserable failure first and an artist second, so even those
paintings of his paintings that focused on relatively dull subject
matter (flowers, his room, etc.) have a wild kinetic element, a
desperate sort of humanity that comes through and manages to be
meaningful) and a lot of AWESOME romantic paintings as well as
sculptures. Romantic paintings are fucking awesome, just crazy
scenes from myth and the Bible and whatnot--I'm sure it was like
the blockbuster action movie equivalent of the time. Blood,
boobs, and mothafuckas gettin' tore up.
We hiked up to Montmartre and then went back to the hostel before hiking somewhere else that I forget at the moment.
And we went to the flee market and I bought a silly looking gnome
for five euro, then we went to the Latin Quarter and ate fondue.
I felt like a fatty but it was pretty delicious... ''Here are some
potatoes, some bread, and some liquefied cheese... ROCK IT.'' OM
NOM NOM FAT
Then I took a nap, K went to try and score some weed, I went
looking for food and couldn't scavenge anything of much value.
This peach beverage was delicious, but you don't want to know what I had to do for this fucker.
10:45 pm Forum:
Picasso knew I was going to be out of town eventually, so he made this guest comic submission well before the site went live, just so he could get his stuff out there (apologies for horrible picture quality, I had to stealth the shit out of that photo because of security, like Solid Snake in the first part of Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty).
A pussy eating pussy.... no, the universe did not implode onto itself, but this did happen...
Tuesday, March 24th:
It's a cultural thing... best not to ask.
Wednesday, March 25th: Polkster's Note: I discussed this episode later with a professor of mine who argued, "Women with children are entitled to personal lives too." "No, I mean I understand, that's fine and great and fair and all... but this guy was close to my age, looking up girls on the internet, looking up girls with kids on the internet. It's not like he met this girl at the Barcelona weekly bowling tournament, really hit it off, and after taking her out to dinner found out she had a kid, he's picking up women with kids! How is that not weird?" Oh and this Japanese lady walking down the street looked at me, smiled, I looked away, looked back, SHE WAS STILL SMILING AT ME, I looked away, she was ten feet down the street, STILL SMILING. This woman would not stop staring at me. I wondered whether or I possessed some sort of crazy sex appeal that was particularly effective on the Yamato people (kind of how white people particularly like sushi0 but then I realized I was wearing my Tetsujin 28 shirt, which I guess is an unusual thing for a pasty fucker like myself.
When it comes to child rearing, the Spaniards are pretty strict. Kind of surreal to see a bunch of eight year olds in a chain gang, singing Old Man River.
Thursday, March 26th:
K commented, "As gay as the French may be, this lisping takes the fucking cake." Sperm! graffiti didn't do much to help my cause.
Oh shit, we just misplaced it.
The Axis Powers only lost because we had all of space on our side.
Saturady, March 28th - Sunday, March 29th:
Vienna Log
11:15 pm: Train ticket machine did not work, regardless of how hard
we jammed our cocks in it. Went nuts for a little bit.
Friendly Austrian man helped us out in the nick of time, elevating
Official PolkOut opinion of Austrian people from low-neutral to
"optimistic". 11:47 pm: After fumbling with the map and watch K roll cigarettes for half an hour (he licks those suckers closed like he's eating out an asshole) we've finally arrived. 12:00 am: We've wandered into an amusement park right outside of the metro station. A Shatner-looking guy sporting that trademark sour face, a cigarette in his mouth, and a leather jacket whizzes by on one of those old people scooters. Groups of Austrian teens wander around us ambivalently; not too worried about safety, they all look kinda gay. 12:25 am: Efforts at finding a decent bar to kill time at have amounted to nothing thus far; difficult to discern gay night clubs from proper hetero drinking establishments: "All these lights throw me off... they're all kinda gay looking but could just be how they are around here." 12:30 am: May have walked into brothel. DEFINITELY BROTHEL. Hooker rubbing my thigh... asking what I'm writing, not looking up, pretending to be naive (ultimate defense mechanism against unwanted sexual advances) K finally says, "Uhhh... we don't have much money." "What do you mean?" "We... only have enough... for beer." Hookers are agitated, walk away. So we ended up paying 7 Euro apiece for two Heineken bottles. I hope K's learned a valuable fucking lesson: ask how much something costs before you buy the damn thing. We've agreed that we need to milk these beers and keep this black lit roof over our heads as long as possible. There's an overweight, middle aged, bald guy with these thick glasses in the corner talking up a hooker (like they need to be talked up?); he's got a champagne bucket on the table and he looks like the kind of guy who'd flash kids his dick. K looks at me, "The one who was talking to you was pretty cute... really cute... you know, you could've just gotten blown." "I don't want to be inside anything so fucking septic, man, could you imagine what's passed in and out of her?" "I'm not saying you need to be inside her, just inside her mouth. The mouth is already a pretty filthy place." A man walks in with a bouquet of roses for his favorite gal pal for hire. I have no idea what the hell they're saying so the language barrier serves as a blank canvas of sorts for my imagination. My jacket (which is suede or something like it--is suede expensive? I only paid something like thirty bucks for this thing...) is covered in white speckles in this lighting. Like a swarm of flies just surrounded me and went to town, jizzing everywhere Japanese porno style. There's a go-go cage, Christmas lights, and a luminescent poster of a naked woman moaning. Note to Self: Redecorate room back in New York. "It's just fucking dirty, I don't like the idea. Maybe if she sat down next to me, started making conversation, and we really hit it off, in the emotional and intellectual sort of way... you know, talked about videogames and philosophy and Japanese cartoons, really meshed as people, and we had that little spark... yeah, maybe then I could pay her for sex... but I don't want to feel cheap." One of the bored hookers (cuter one) has whipped out what looks like a Nintendo DS and has started playing it. Those things really do have mainstream appeal. 1:20 am: We've left the whore house, I've pissed in an ally, and we found a bar open 24/7 with twice the beer for the brothel price. It's crowded and kind of multicultural, like a Sesame Street skit only with too few black people. 1:40 am: I'm passing time zoning and out and creepily eyeing Austrian girls. You know, I've got to confess, I'm the kind of guy who really looks at people. On the subway, in the street, I make eye contact with everyone. I enjoy it and it's certainly not sexual (well, not always sexual) but people still tend to get creeped out. Like I'm picturing them naked or formulating a plan to knock them out and fuck them in the ass in my sex dungeon and/or van. 2:05 am: The bathroom floor is sticky. Despite this, and the dude's making out in the front, the lack of glory holes and strangers propositioning me for anonymous sex leads me to believe this is not a gay bar... or maybe I'm just losing my edge. 3:30 am: On our way to McDonald's a drunk chick from the bar approached me as K was pissing between cars and started rambling at me in German. I nodded and smiled and she walked away--I like to think that it was a confession of love struck admiration or her suggesting a quick and dirty little hump around one of the darker alleyways, but it was something more along the lines of "I can smell my own menses!" or "Birth control makes my anus leaky!" Because that's just the sort of luck I have--and we're at McDonald's now. 4:00 am: Cher's Believe is playing on the McDonald's channel. Another older, overweight, bald, bespectacled gentleman is sitting nearby, eating a burger. He's got a huge crack across one of his lenses which, considering he's some random guy eating a burger at 4 am, must be a good story. McDonald's security informs us we have to leave because they close at 4 am but now it's actually 5 am because of daylight savings time... victory! We've lost an hour of not sleeping! 6:00 am: McDonald's is open again! Joy! We have spent the last hour sitting in the dimly lit park across the street, thinking up dirty alternate lyrics to that one Coldplay song:
I used to Superman that ho 7:20 am: Drunk on lack of sleep. McDonald's is out of ice cream. Ebony and Ivory music video, starring Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder comes on... and the morning is made.
7:50 am: The return of ice cream! Tasty tasty fun time in my mouth! 8:00 am: We set out to find the bus that will take us back to Prague. 8:30 am: Mission Accomplished.
This also happens to be my policy for giving friends rides. So we got back to Prague in one piece, I finished my homework (or most of it) and even got to watch a weird Czech movie on the bus called Summer of the Cowboy or something like that. A weird romantic comedy with a lot of completely batshit stuff thrown in. Hell, I'll give it the PolkOut Seal of Approval, why not? I know my Barcelona descriptions weren't as rich as my Paris ones, a fact due partly to the lack of readily accessible internet access, partly due to the fact that all we did was wander around parks and museums and whatnot, not really doing anything. The food was great though. Sorry the update's late, I've had assignments due, problems with Photoshop, and my dad's been in town. I hope you've enjoyed this most meaty of rants because it took a damn long time to put together. As always, tell your friends, post on your forums, and do all that other shit I know you'll forget about or ignore.
--End Transmission-- PolkOut Sells Out The following are ads I've put up on the site to help pay for my advertising budget so I can make this site more popular. I did not choose these ads, and have decided not to filter their content. So if they lead you to hookers, well, all the better.
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all beer is too expensive by Prague standards...) and we wandered
around a bit. 
) parts) the better it invariably is. 
