EUROPE - VIENNA, ESCAPE

That thing in Europe, the toilet bowl shitshelf showing you the health of your stool - really wish they didn’t have that. I try to ignore the hue of my piss, let alone the horrors lurking in my turds. Speaking of, Vienna. Played another 6 song set. Doing the gentlemanly thing not overplaying. Also preserving Chris’ ill voice. Short sets suit me fine. Weird Sunday vibes but drunk enough not to care, win over the 20 people present. 

Sick of metal clubs, found an Irish pub, an oasis of Guinness/whisky/quiet. Backstage, Momager Ashley scours the internet for accommodation for cancelled show day while we act like demented animals. She pauses on one, ‘I think this is too nice for us,’ continues scrolling as Ben throws cucumbers at me, Simon does his very loud/sustained Tom Araya scream and throws items at the ceiling. He hikes his shorts up and pulls village idiot faces for a poor fan trying to get photos with us. 

Soon, backstage is absolute chaos. Everyone screaming, screeching, yelling, shots, beers, madness. The owner furious, Ashley beseeching us to calm down. High Command are/were bartenders, professional partiers. I’ve been out of the game too long to hang every nite, but tonite we ride. 

Raucous time back at the Irish pub, like the bar scene of Deer Hunter if everyone were underslept, overstimulated chimpanzees. Poor solo bartender played Slayer, Metallica for us, brought trays and trays of shots, until politely begging us to leave at closing. Chris put down an 80 Euro tip to thank her for the trouble. ‘You still owe me for 7 Guinness and 4 whiskies.’ ‘ Oh.’ Tip became about 20 Euros. We tried. 

At hostel, repeat visits to reception as to where we live/what room/which floor. We discover, and terrorise, Sven (?) a pyjama-clad Swede (?) staying in our room who has to get up for work shortly. Mack and I selfconsciously stumble around in the dark, trying to be quiet but sounding like 2 cavemen chasing a small animal. Razzle and Ben went on a niteclub odyssey across town. Chris wisely got his own room. Simon, on a solo mission of his own conception, wandering the frozen streets tempting fate, stumbled in, turned all lights on at 4am and shrieked at us. ‘Shut up, you’ll wake Sven!’ we pleaded. ‘Fuck you, don’t tell me to shut up!’ Ben lost his keycard, receptionist let him in at 6. [Redacted] brought a lady back, promised her she could come to Budapest today. ‘Mom can a friend come in the van to Hungary?’ ‘Absofuckinglutely not’. Request denied.