I like to
Move It Move It
I like to
Move It Move It
I like to
Move It Move It
You like
to...
MOVE IT
Chris was
expecting this exact song to be blaring amongst a myriad of scantily
clad women dancing in carnival-esque fashion as we entered the Red
Light District. He was sorely disappointed.
Rich was in
heaven so he lead the way. Chris and Deeby were discussing the
similarity’s between their current activity to a trip to the zoo,
the conversation drifted towards the contemporary state of feminism
and whether men should feel emasculated buying shower gel marketed at
women. Meanwhile...
“Rich, this is the
third time you've brought us to this street?” Deeby pointed out.
“This is the tranny
street, man!” Chris added “Why d'you keep bringing us here? Is
there something you want to tell us.”
“Nah man, I just keep getting lost. All these streets look the same.” Rich argues.
“Nah man, I just keep getting lost. All these streets look the same.” Rich argues.
“Yeah, alright.”
The others thought.
 |
| Did you hear about Lisa? She had her appendix taken out. Now, she's only a prostitute on the side. |
Deciding to soak in
some Dutch culture, the next day was spent at the Van Gogh Museum.
They smoke a few zoots
first, of course. On the 1st floor now, Rich gets groggy.
“Nah man, I need to
sit down.” Rich exclaims.
“You alright, mate?” Chris is concerned.
“Yeah, you guys go check out the paintings, I'm just gonna sit here for a second.”
Chris and Deeby circle the floor and come back only to see Rich in the middle of the gallery passed out. Gone. Fully asleep. “He's supposed to be the heavyweight,” Deeby clarified. “Should we help him?”
“He ain't goin' anywhere.”
“Yeah, we'll come back in a bit or in an hour or two.”
“You alright, mate?” Chris is concerned.
“Yeah, you guys go check out the paintings, I'm just gonna sit here for a second.”
Chris and Deeby circle the floor and come back only to see Rich in the middle of the gallery passed out. Gone. Fully asleep. “He's supposed to be the heavyweight,” Deeby clarified. “Should we help him?”
“He ain't goin' anywhere.”
“Yeah, we'll come back in a bit or in an hour or two.”
That night, the not so
nail-biting Argentina Holland world cup semi-final was on. Rich hyped
about how amazing it was that were going to watch a Holland football
match whilst in Holland (even though he had already fallen asleep
watching the Germany Brazil game on the previous night), it was one
of his main reasons for being here. Totally into the spirit of
things, Deeby buys a bright orange Holland jacket whilst Chris looks
for a Dutch pub. A wave of fans dressed in all orange chant and
cheer in optimism. It's kick off. The whistle blows and Rich yells...
“COME
ON YOU ARGIES!! SHOW HOLLAND HOW IT'S DONE!”
Chris, Deeby
and about 5 or 6 Dutch patriots all turn their heads at him.
Deeby shakes
his head at Rich. Chris has his head in his hands.
“What?!”
asks Rich, oblivious.
 |
| What Chris sees when he's on truffles. |
A new day... which
means new drugs.
Truffles, the local delicacy, happened to be on the menu on that "Beer in the Park" kind of day. An hour after consumption Deeby wasn't feeling anything so decided to buy a sandwich from a nearby shop, Rich was chillin' off a teeny buzz but Chris was going to town. Sat on the grass, legs crossed like he does yoga and palms hovering over the floor, gently brushing blades of grass. He smiles like he's found the meaning of life.
Truffles, the local delicacy, happened to be on the menu on that "Beer in the Park" kind of day. An hour after consumption Deeby wasn't feeling anything so decided to buy a sandwich from a nearby shop, Rich was chillin' off a teeny buzz but Chris was going to town. Sat on the grass, legs crossed like he does yoga and palms hovering over the floor, gently brushing blades of grass. He smiles like he's found the meaning of life.
When Deeby returned,
the pair were both on their phones. “Oi Phone Whores,” He called
“Bored of each other already?”
“He's on his phone being anti-social and not enjoying his holiday,” Chris began “So I wrote a poem about it.”
“He's on his phone being anti-social and not enjoying his holiday,” Chris began “So I wrote a poem about it.”
Chris' Poem: Rich in Dam
Rich is in dam, but is he here.
Nah. Not it Dam.
Nah. Not it Dam.
“And Phone whore number 2. Whats your excuse?”
“Aww I'm tellin you man, it's one of them ones,” Rich whimpered “You two have no idea how lucky you are not to have parents on your back all the time. I'm still get irritating messages from my auntie about being in Amsterdam. Why do they keep talking about Bitter Gold?”
“That's Peak times
for you, init!” Deeby laughs. Beep Beep.
“Uh oh. Phone whore number 3.” Rich notes.
“Uh oh. Phone whore number 3.” Rich notes.
“Oh shit.” Deeby's
stunned at his text.
“What?” Chris asks.
“Just got a message
from Wumz. “So Sorry Adeeb. I messed up. I let it slip to your mum
that you smoke weed. So so sorry. Hope you don't get in too much
trouble.”
A beat of silence is
quickly interrupted by immense hysterical laughter from Chris and
Rich. They're in tears.
Chris can't help but say it once more... “Dickhead of the year goes to...”
Chris can't help but say it once more... “Dickhead of the year goes to...”
Dam Bitch!
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