Where the hell is my towel?

In a shameless emulation of another far less bewildered traveller, I give you the highly accurate account of my year in Uppsala, Sweden. Like the great man says, persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; those attempting to find a plot in it will be banished; those attempting to find a moral in it will be shot.

Sunday, September 03, 2006

Updates

Just three things.

1. I know a scraggly inebriated Irishman named "Lutheran Caine," which might possibly be the greatest comic-book villian name ever. We call him "Loufer," for short, mostly because he is too drunk and too Irish to enunciate the "t" properly.

2. Sarah called things off a couple days ago, while we were walking back from failing the Swedish exam. I'm moderately annoyed and expect a certain degree of awkwardness to ensue. Hoping the next girl is empty-headed and big-breasted, so I don't feel like there's much of a loss when things go sour.

3. Found these things at ICA which are almost, but not quite, entirely unlike frozen pizzas. They're 19 kroner and now I live on them. I expect to die shortly.

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