i'm not c monks. i'm gene, and i'm still in denmark, and i took every suggestion from yesterday. mostly because i'm afraid to go back to copenhagen. there are riots on the television, people burning trash and ceramics. i started a riot, i think. i'm sorry. i'm scared.

so, i'm not going back to copenhagen. i'm stuck in rural denmark at the rural denmark hooters in viborg with klaus and the gang. there is some kind of michael jackson convention out here, and all of the guys wanted to do a road trip. it's been pretty crazy, i guess. reminds me of my frat days, all driving long distances and listening to 'bad' eighty times on repeat. it's been incredible. now, we've all got our smooth criminal jackets on and we're in the hooters and drunk off hot wing flavored schnapps and klaus is throwing old raspberry danishes at people.

last night, in the back room of the roskilde hooters, i learned what danish love-making is all about. it's all about dressing up like a mermaid and crafting an oddly-serene looking metal object of some functionality. it's insane. your head almost implodes during the danish love-making ritual. your body pours out so much sweat that you turn into some sort of crazy raisin before whichever functionality you decide to use is even near oddly-serene. i almost died fifty times. when it was over, i fell asleep on a sack of wing flour with my danish love-making partner, our hands crossed in origami with the gentle sounds of public enemy crooning over danish fm. this is the love-making life in rural denmark, a place with no cable.

this morning, when i got back to the roadside windmill, klaus taught me how to make breakfast paninis on a george foreman grill. wow. so good. i ate five and then he wanted to show me how to make finger puppet theatre. it's a hans thing, he said. we made a replica of the view set out of hay, and puppets out of rubber nipples. klaus played star jones, and i was meredith vieira. the topic was riots. klaus/star jones gave some really sound advice, i thought. i will not litter anymore.

i'm sitting at hooters again now, and it's getting late. klaus is throwing hard danishes, still. someone put michael jackson on the jukebox. i'm going to order more wings. i need more hot wing flavored schnapps. i need more. i'm going to call up those muslims and apologize, i think. they are burning more trash and ceramics on the television. maybe not. maybe i'll just sit here and drink schnapps until i forget the blizzard ever happened. maybe i'll listen to 'bad' one more time. i'm not sure. i need more wings. i need to go. klaus is calling me and he has that face again, the one like he ordered his wings too hot. denmark needs my help.