I was Happy in the Haze of a Drunken Hour

////… and tipsy from gin and on my way, and with a sweaty body, naked in a hotel room where the heat is 32 degrees, I suddenly wake up in the middle of the night and I can’t understand how the hell it could be that hot; I’m trying to get back to sleep, but with two Israelis fucking next door, I feel like grabbing my expensive Teva sandals and throwing them against the wall to try to make them realize that it’s both too hot and too late for what being subjected to their annoying copulation.

And from the haze, this young man wakes up at 2 PM, panicking, realizing that he now missed the ordered taxi that was supposed to guide him throughout the city. Motherfuck! Had made a promise to a stupid Indian guy that I would be standing drowned in perfume and freshly shaved at 8:30 for a full day, with a private guide and the works.

Is there an insurance company here somewhere? Do they cover instances of being late, or should I fill out the ”Fuck It All” form? Or should I put myself in quarantine for a week or so?

The zit my nose is bigger than a Jewish beach ball ……. And I drown it with my acne solution and get myself in a rickshaw that takes me downtown, just pacing around, buying an awful Indian kurta just because the stupid Indian convinced me to; bought another pair of shorts, found a pair of really awesome sunglasses from PRADA, which I of course I buy, and immediately regret the purchase, return them, run from the shop in hopes that I will find a Santa Claus beard so no one can recognize me! Jump in to an expensive bar in Delhi, order a beer and discover that I lost my ticket to Agra for the next morning.

Mikael, you are going to win the “The Most Stupid Traveler Of The Year” award.
“… Thank you….thank you soo much. First of I would like to thank my stupid little brain. Can I say hi to my family? I owe it all to the grace of God.”

Back on stage, in the Main Bazaar, I find myself drinking beer at the only place in the area that serves it. Two Japanese guys with a seriously nasty case of verbal diarrhea are talking my ears off and I escape back to my hotel, where I’m now sitting and drooling over a banana cake two meters away.

Next mission: buy the banana cake, have a good wank, and then maybe a late episode of Bollbompa.

(Intro: The Smiths:” Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now”)