Well, I promised at least one more cop-out vacation post, so here it is. A short collection of tourist photos taken on my italian trip over the last two weeks. Enjoy it, because I certainly did.

I took this one in... I'm not totally sure. I think it's venice.

This is the beautiful church in sienna. Quite a monument to man's ability to devote themselves entirely to an imaginary god. I would like to pat myself on the back for a beautiful picture, but I think it has more to do with the incredible subject matter.

This is ponte vecchio bridge in florence. A great place to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with sweaty germans and buy gold. It's literally THE ONLY THING on the bridge. Gold shops.

I took this picture while standing in the ruins of pompei. That is the (still active) volcano vesuvius. One day it will kill everyone there and in nearby naples. Someday.

And this is the view from the city walls of the very defensible hill city of volterra. It was built on the ancient greek-etruscan city from antiquity, but is more famous now for being the filming site for one of the shitty twilight movies. I fucking hate humanity.

I am back from my two-week italian getaway and now report back to the Popular Irony readers with some of my observations of the experience. I visited Rome, Venice, Florence, Naples, Pompei, Ponsacco, San Gimignano, Sienna, Lucca, Voltarra, Pontedera, and Pisa. And I found a few consistencies that held true in all these places.

Firstly, the women. Italian women did not disappoint, although I had to enjoy them at a distance to avoid any international incidents. But something mysterious happens to them when they age, and they seem to go through a strange metamorphosis cycle following puberty. Teenage italian women are almost entirely made up of gorgeous dark-haired and olive-skinned fashion model godesses, and that remains true throughout their twenties, but after their 35th birthday they take a dramatic change. They seem to gain 60 pounds overnight, sprout facial hair and warts, and adopt a shrimp-like posture that they accentuate with layer after layer of home-knit clothing and at least two scarves. But this change comes with one clear advantage: they transform into master chefs. So if dating an italian woman, beware.

It also appears that Italy makes no effort to pander to the needs of their handicapped population. Nowhere did I encounter wheelchair ramps, braile notices, or hook-shaped door handles. It is as if they are trying to pretend the less fortunate citizens of their country do not exist, and it seems to be working. You see disabled people nowhere on the streets, except the unfortunate ones that clog the tourist areas as beggars. I have a suspicion that some of the lazier people there purposly chop of limbs and gouge out eyes as a career move. Then again, maybe they are just collecting funds to help their defunct government install a fucking ramp or two at the train station.

And they speak loudly. And with comically exaggerated hand gestures. A perfectly silent bus ride would frequently be interrupted by a local who screamed into the phone as if it owed them money and inadvertantly pummeled the stranger seated next to them with a uniquely italian version of karate. I swear that if you hancuffed an italian they would be rendered mute. And while I am ranting on the subject I would like to point out that the vast majority of italians haven't taken the common courtesy of learning english, so no civilized people can understand a word. No wonder they are drowning the EU in debt, circling with Spain and Greece around the economic drain.

And while the food is wonderful, and the coffee and wine is sublime, the drinking water is complete shit. "Aqua minerale, naturale or frizzante". No thanks. Your water tastes like it came from the tap and it isn't even properly chilled, making it useful only for pissing or shitting into. And don't get me started on carbonated water. With the exception of my esteemed blog partner Terlet it is consumed only by douchebags and date rapists.

I'm sure there are many more stereotypes I am leaving out, including the copious body odor resulting from too much hair and too little personal hygiene, but I wouldn't want to accidentally offend anyone. So I will end my observations here, but don't think for one second this is my last vacation-related post. I took too many pictures and am far too lazy not to take full advantage of them, so there is more coming.

Well I have escaped the urban nightmare that is Rome and left the heat and humidity with it. Now after another day of last-minute train travel and stress I have reached the tuscan villa just outside of the city of Ponsacco, but is it everything I was hoping it would be? Unfortunately, not really.

Here we see the ouside entertaining area. Sure the view is magnificent, and there are hardly any other homes in sight, and the only dirt road leading to it is behind three gates, but just look at the state of it! They tell us the canopy is hand painted and imported from Morocco... I mean, what the fuck were they thinking? Here I am expecting a relaxing break from the tuscan sun and you are telling me that I have to drink wine and eat fresh locally-grown tomatoes with homemade mozarella under a fucking MOROCCAN canopy? False advertising, to say the least.

And here is the living room leading into my bedroom. Would you believe that the upstairs is the ONLY part of the villa with air conditioning? Of course the weather is superb and the sound of the birds and gentle breeze rolling over the olive trees and vineyards is extremely pleasant, and I would certainly prefer the open double doors and shudders to the boxed-in feeling upstairs, but when I ask for luxury that means AIR CONDITIONING! Fucking europeans don't know comfort.

And here we have the state-of-the-art kitchen, complete with stainless steel appliances, marble table, three refigerators, and restaurant-quality meat slicer. What, are they expecting me to slave away in the kitchen all day? I guess they did stock the fridges with pre-prepared pastas and sauces, fresh produce, local wine and beer, and a delicious selection of cheese and dairy, but I don't like being under all this pressure to cook over the weekend until the staff returns Monday afternoon and the master chef gets back to preparing our meals. Our hosts are treating us like fucking savages.

And here we have the pool. Have you ever seen anything so depressing in your life? It's not even heated!! The few times I swam it may have been a perfectly refreshing temperature, and makes a sublime retreat from the warm surroundings, but it is only 8 feet deep! I am 6'4 and that means if I go diving off the board I might scrape my face on the bottom. Unacceptable.

And how's this for a slap in the face? The property sits opposite a 16th century Medici family castle that is just bearing down on us! So now every time I look out my window I have to be reminded of exactly how much better the whole experience could be. When I am trying to enjoy my meager taste of the high life I don't want some castle-dwelling assholes looking down on me! I mean, I came here to escape the everyday shithole I live in, not to find out I upgraded to a slightly less shitty hole.

And can you imagine my disappointment when I found this awesome bookcase stocked with reading material for my week long getaway and I discovered that all the books are in fucking italian?!? What, do the think anyone but americans are going to be renting this property? The fact that they made no additional adjustments to cater to their clientele just makes me sick. Guess I'll just have to read one of the dozens of books loaded in my ipad! Bullshit.

I was also thrilled to see that there were a set of billiard balls at my disposal! So I ran all over the place looking for a pool table and guess what... The fuckers forgot to put one in the villa! God damn it, people, how big of an asshole do you have to be to get my hopes up for a game of pool and then pull the rug out from under me by forgetting the table? Sick bastards.

So I guess the next week won't be all I had hoped it would. All the 5 star meals and lovely weather is only going to piss me off more, and don't even get me STARTED about the church bells that ring through the valley on a regular basis! Oh well, I will have to try to make the best of it. Until next time I'll just say "champagne disappointments and caviar nightmares!"

Roman skyline

I have arrived. It took one 3.5hr flight to Philadelphia then an 8.5hr flight to Rome, and now I am in Hotel Miami on Via Nazionale in Roma (that's right, nazi street). Being a 6'5 obese american, I am entirely unable to sleep on a plane, so I arrived at 8:15am Rome time quite tired. Luckily I had an anonymous aged italian grandmother/formula 1 race car driver to bring me to the hotel.

After making the 48 point turn to get out of the parking space she was wedged into, she flew headfirst into traffic and quickly proved herself to be the most aggressive driver on the road, and that is saying something in a country like Italy, where traffic laws are considered mere suggestions. She took a yard and gave not even an inch, and made steady eye contact with every other driver on the road while simultaneously honking the horn and gesturing some as-of-yet untranslated but transparently demeaning insult.

Just about the only thing that can get an experienced italian driver to slow down (but not stop) is a local pedestrian. You can tell the locals because they play a high-stakes game of chicken with the drivers that involves them blindly walking into the street without looking up, just daring the drivers to run them down. Tourists always look up. Amateurs.

But the true daredevils are the moped drivers, almost always clad in armani suits and weaving through traffic from the friendly right lane to the no man's land, tempting oncoming traffic. Their smaller size means they can move at full speed when all others are at a standstill, and take full advantage of their insanity. The drive took thirty minutes and I am shocked that I didn't see at least four well-dressed corpses in that time.

Since arriving I have enjoyed a nap, shower, meal of delicious street pizza (one shovel-o-mushroom, and one tomato with prosciutto), and walked down to the Trevi Fountain in search of the perfect absinthe shop. No such luck on the absinthe yet, but I did manage to sweat through a shit and pair of shorts. It is about 90 degrees with 75% humidity.

I will try to give another update in the next few days once I make it to the villa, where I anticipate my mentality will change from common tourist to relaxed aristocrat. I can't wait.

Greetings loyal readers!  It's your old pal, Terlet.  For the next couple of weeks you are going to be seeing a lot more of me.  My dear friend and website co-founder, Hamtackle, is away from the office on a luxurious Italian vacation.  

We at Popular Irony have made a habit of making daily posts on our illustrious website.  It has been over a year and we have not missed a day yet.  Hamtackle may be able to make a post or two while on vacation, but the bulk of the responsibility will fall to me.  Lazy ass Terlet.

I am trying to convince two one-time contributors to Popular Irony to join in as well.  So, there is a chance of seeing the return of The Lady Terlet and Sir Chapsworth.  They both thought that their first and only posts on Popular Irony were crap.  I entirely disagree.  They both had funny, well written, entertaining stories that fit in well with the filth and depravity displayed daily here.  But, of course, as many do, they judge themselves too harshly.  Don't they know that nobody reads this shit anyway?

It will probably just be me creating your daily dose of bullshit until Hamtackle returns.  I just want to apologize in advance if I "Phone In" some days.  If I post a song by the Scum City Avengers, you'll know I was feeling exceptionally lazy.  If I post a Youtube video that doesn't make sense and has no punchline, you'll know that my creative well was dry that day.  If it's just a stream of curse words and gibberish accompanied by pictures of dogs pooping, you'll know my wife is screaming that she feels like a "Blog Widow" and I should quickly get off the computer.

I'm going to try my best to pick up Hamtackle's slack.  I am planning on revisiting some old characters.  Maybe Your Best Friend Jen or Dick Scustin.  Maybe Glenda Bekk or A Lady's Fancy will make an appearance.  One thing that I know I am going to attempt is another chapter of "Federation Starship USS Hindenburg".  I wrote 3 episodes in my first 3 weeks on Popular Irony.  They are the posts that I am proudest of.  I became intimidated by positive feedback and stopped writing it.  Strange, I know.  We'll see if I can get that one back on the regular.

This isn't a very "Popular Irony" post.  My apologies. Let's see........ Shit Fuck!  Motherfuckers!  Tits squirting shit!  Shit Squirting Tits!  Ball Hammer Buttfucker cunt cock lazy fuck!  A magical puppy wearing a three piece suit rapes a parking attendant.  A dildo that comes to life like Pinocchio.  Trying to shit a whole chicken egg.  Finger banging the willing elderly.  Everything tastes like soup.  Below are pictures of dogs pooping.  See you tomorrow... then the day after that....... then after that...... etc.  I have a full time job and shit to do, ya know.