Left Venice. Travelled back to Munich at high speed. We were all tired and a little sad. We will probably never visit “The Republic of Music” ever again. So little time, so much to see. There is still a whole World out there to explore and only one lifetime to do it; well actually less than one half of a half of a lifetime, even less, given the advanced age of my moron and the degenerate state of his dilapidated physique. The good life took its toll, me thinks.
But I was content. I am a better Cap for having been there, for having experienced “The Serene One” so intimately, and happy that I could take my moron with me on that journey. He, for one, could do with a little upliftment at this late stage of his life. It would be sad for him to be a moron all his life, and then go and die on me still the same sad moron. “Erleichda” is what I want to shout at him, loud and clear in his ear and whack him on the head. “Go dance the Bandaloop. Get a life. Arschloch!” But I will take him there again, even if it kills him. Better a dead enlightened man than `n living moron.
I was sadly mistaken. What else can you expect; he is after all a stupid, dim-witted human. We got back to Munich and there he took his revenge. It turned out he was not at all impressed by our little visit to the “other side”. He was in fact a bit pissed off and thanked me for the adventure by dumping me into a suitcase which he locked away in a wardrobe and then went off to explore Munich on his own, or so I thought until I saw the pictures of him and that imposter, that fake damn thing masquerading as a cap. A cheap pretentious bastard of a thing obviously made in China.
They apparently had a ball of a time. Visited “The Residence”. Gawked at the King and Queen’s bed chambers (went ballistic about the chamber pots I believe!), looked at paintings and sculptures. Admired the outrageous materialistic, superficially gilded lifestyle of superficial, privileged, selfish, plundering and blundering monarchs. They visited street cafes, churches and listened to street musicians. If he thought that I would be jealous, he made a big mistake. Bha, say I. He will come back to me grovelling, begging because without me, he is nothing. Nobody even takes notice of him … or that stupid new thing he calls a cap. MORON!
And he went to Hofbrauhause without me. Hofbrauhause! The idiot. Saukerl! How could he. I wanted to go to that world famous house of beer. I wanted to experience the last remnants of the proud Bavarian culture up close and personal. It would have been a life enriching, soul stirring experience to listen to the Oompah music and the folk songs sung by those old-timers in their traditional outfits. Culture, therein lies the essence of a nation. To steep yourself in the warm embrace of a people at play is to touch their soul, and to be so touched in return. A cultured, sophisticated Cap like me knows the truth of that.
Sadly I knew that the only reason he wanted to go there was to ogle and drool over those famous ϋber-endowed waitresses in their low-cut dresses and drink himself into a stupor, and make a fool of himself. What a waste. Only God knows why He created fools like this.
He came back in the middle of the night and slept until his alcohol drenched brains (or what was left of it) started to function again. Function is of course, a very strong word to use when it comes to describing what goes on in the moron’s head. I only deduced from his behaviour that his meagre mental capacity has returned to normal when he casually picked me up and took me on a trip. I got no explanation for his dastardly behaviour, no heartfelt ‘sorry I was a prick’ or begging for forgiveness. No sir, he just picked me up, went out the door and I suddenly found myself on a trip down purgatory lane into that infamous hell-hole of man’s darkest past. His idea of a fun filled day was to take me to Dachau! I here and now declare him insane!