I realized what happened on my trip, down to the last detail. I will now relate to you the less embarrassing details of the trip that time forgot.
After we left stonehenge, we went to a musty little pub that sold us hamburgers with rectangular buns. I ordered a drink called absinthe, which I thought was a type of lemonade. Instead, I ended up screaming from the top of a double decker bus, thinking I was being assaulted by zombified spiders as I beat them away using a stick I mistook for a submachine gun.
The next day, I took a train through the Chunnel of Love and ended up spending five hours explaining to French customs why there was an exact 'replica' of the Rosetta Stone in my bag. I was still a little whacked-out from the absinthe, and they weren't convinced of my innocence, so they stuffed me in the backseat of a massive Mercedes and drove me to an undisclosed location. To get out, I repeatedly hit the back door with the Rosetta Stone, turning it to dust.
FYI, it had nothing to do with King Tut.
I got a rental car and finally showed up in my hotel in Dinan a day late. There was a big music festival going on, and I spent the night out on the town. Unfortunately, someone mixed my order up with someone else's in a pub, so instead of a double-fudge sundae, I got a vodka-roofie sundae. I believe I officially lost my mind at that point. Who knows what kind of havoc I caused.
I then took a train to Paris, and bought a French copy of my favorite magazine, THE WEEK. It was in French, of course, but somehow I understood every word. When I finally showed up in my hotel in Paris, I had somewhat recovered. I had the best American hamburger I ever had at a place in the city (no joke, they actually have American restaurants in France), and had fun watching more odd cars (not just Skodas, but Dacias, Ladas, and Talbots).
The next morning I needed some food desperately, but the hotel didn't provide breakfast, so I had to go forage. I got some Coco Puffs, but as it turns out, I was all out of Euros and only had Pounds, which are easily confused. I ended up trying to smuggle them out through the wine cellar beneath the store, but I got a little sidetracked. Long story short, I followed a tunnel, ended up in custody of some Libyan suicide commandos, and was taken to Tripoli, where Mummar Qadaffi had his bodyguards tase me for entertainment.
I escaped by tying sheets together, but there weren't enough, so I had to also use Qadaffi's pet boa constrictor and iguana. I was almost out of the compound when I realized the iguana was on my back. I freaked the f*** out and the guards heard me, so that's when I got in a speedboat...
Oh my god. It was pretty intense. The Hangover Part III should take place in Paris.
On my way back (still on the speedboat), I accidentally rammed a barge carrying dozens of gold ingots. One hit my head, inducing amnesia, and I was carried with the barge to its next destination...
San Francisco.
Wow. That was my fourth-greatest adventure ever. And that was the tamer stuff. The more serious things I will never reveal.
Ever.
Bye!
<< That evil... EVIL iguana...
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