PolkOut.com available for weddings and bar mitzvahs!

Though our specialty is funerals.

It's 4:22 am on what my watch claims to be Wednesday morning.  I haven't drawn the new comic yet, but when you read this, it'll be up.  This is sort of a first, writing this bullsh!t before making a comic, but I'm sort of jetlagged and I've been asleep for the last six hours.  Before my six hour crash, I'd been awake for something like thirty hours, a third of that time spent on a plane.

F!ck planes.  I can't stand airplanes.  Not the bug-eyed, weird-as-hell, flight attendants (when did they stop being hot young women and start being scary, shriveled, middle aged men?), not the physically crippling seats, not the sh!tty movies, and certainly not the sh!tbag in front of me who decided to recline his seat all the way back.  Believe it or not, when it comes to this sh!t, I'm courteous.  I turn my head around and ask the person behind me, no I'm not afraid to talk to strangers, "Hey, would it bother you if I reclined my seat?"  Yeah, that'd be nice, asshole.  My legs were already up and against the back of your chair, I didn't need them actually receding into my abdomen.

And what the f!ck is with the movies?  They showed the Lake House.  The motherf!cking Lake House.  Oh, are you not familiar?  Have you not heard of the flaming ball of shit and suck and Sandra Bullock that is the Lake House?  Well, it's sort of like Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, only instead of a phone booth, the time machine is a house, and instead of a good movie there's a Sandra Bullock.  F!ck you in your crooked face, you demon wench, Bullock.

Granted, I'm probably no good at picking out airplane movies either.  If I had an airliner, it'd turn out to be a pretty macabre experience, showing Snakes on a Plane and Flight 93 back to back.  But at least my stewardesses would be hot.

Florence itself was actually pretty sweet.  When I was sober it was just okay.  I was stopped by the cops at the train station--I was on my way to Pisa--because I guess they just wanted to give me sh!t.  I may not speak Italian, but the language of the pig is pretty universal.  They held me up for about fifteen minutes, telling me about all the things I hadn't done wrong and all the laws I hadn't broken.  I was also stopped at the airport and they went through my luggage.  I think it's some sort of racial profiling.

I bought a freakin' sweet apron in Pisa.  It's got a big portrait of Mussolini on it, so I had to have it.  They had a lot of sh!t with David's junk on it.  I don't really know why tourists are so mesmerized by the statue's package, but it's on everything.  Don't get me wrong, it's an awesome sculpture, really impressive in its detail and magnitude...but the naughty bits?  That's what sells?

I saw a lot of other stuff.  Several hundred paintings of the Madonna and her kid, all in the same goddamn pose, which I guess she held a lot.  The Birth of Venus was neat, but for a goddess of beauty...ehhhhh.  And then there were a lot of paintings of old, inbred, rich folk.  And a lot of Cathedrals.  They're really into that whole God thing over there, it's a really consistent aesthetic.

Otherwise, Tuscany is sort of like Disney Land with a lower drinking age.  You go for the novelty and everything's overpriced.  To Disney Land's credit, it's got more rides...though it doesn't have Lemon Fanta.  Lemon Fanta is the sh!t.  It is like crack in liquid form, and for some batsh!t reason, you can't get it in the states.  Last time I had it, before I went to Florence, I think it was more sour, so it might've been toned down.  Can any of you Polksters verify this?

I'd like to conclude my little Italy rant over here by just saying raw onions are an outrageously awesome pizza topping and America is the greatest country in the world.  Well maybe just New York.  New York is awesome, I couldn't care if the rest country sank into the sea as long as we got to keep New York.  It's got everything; wide sidewalks, a functional and consistently entertaining mass transit system, pancakes at four in the morning.  It's good to be home.

**It's Friday morning, just finished this comic.  In reference to the contents of the comic: Tim O'Brian blah blah blah.

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