I just returned from a five-night bachelor party in Amsterdam with eleven buddies from Philly. While no one was arrested or died, it was pretty intense (but in a good way, like when a girl keeps blowing you after you’ve finished and you have to tell her to stop because it went from awesome to really awesome to “ok, you can stop” to “no, really – it’s almost starting to hurt”).

In Amsterdam, I:

Did all of the things that one does in Amsterdam. You can probably take it from here, right? I don’t want to say that I could live without a Heineken or pot for the rest of my life, but it sure feels like that right now.

(Although it was quite fun at about 10am today when I had been awake for just over two hours and felt a sudden urge to get high. I believe this is called “wake-and-bake withdrawal”.)

(Except visit a prostitute.) So, here’s the deal: we hit it hard over there. I sort of knew this was going to be a trip that involved seriously getting fucked up, but I was stunned – we got serious, serious effed up. So that’s one thing.

The second thing is that I would say that, because of my high blood pressure, fatness/out-of-shape-ness and the fact that I have a live-in girlfriend, I probably ejaculate only 40-50% of the time I have sex – and I might be being generous here. (The decline of my ejaculatability over the past few years is really an untalkabouted tragedy, but we’ll delve into this at a later point.) While in Amsterdam, there was really not even one hour that I was not drunk or hungover, high or having to shit (since we basically ate like homeless people there, eating whatever was cheap, quick and available). So if I barely get off during sex anyway and on this trip I was destroying my body to the extent that I was lowering the powers of genitals to historically low levels, why would I pay 100 Euro to some chick from Latvia so that I can not ejaculate, make myself tired, and then feel bad that I just wasted $137? So this is why I didn’t visit a pro in Amsterdam.

(Oh, and also because I have a girlfriend. Of course.)

(By the way, “lowering the powers of genitals to historically low levels” is really the best I can do right now. I can’t tell you what kind of struggles today has brought in terms of being able to think and express thoughts coherently. So you should stop reading now if you’re looking for Hemingway. I’m wording this post with the best words that I can.)

Ate Wok To Walk every single day. On the first day, Eddie, my buddy and roommate for the trip, told me that we had to swing by this place. It’s a noodle shop that makes it nice and easy for stoners: pick one of six noodle types listed in one column, then pick your additives (meats, veggies, etc) from a dozen or so selections listed in another column, then pick one of six sauces listed in a third column. It is also open really late, and possibly even 24 hours (I never saw it closed).

Why this is a perfect food joint for the stoner who’s visiting town for only a few days is because my friends and I became obsessed with different combinations. Sitting in a coffeeshop all day smoking pot really gets the appetite going, and if you were to eavesdrop on our conversations, you’d hear a lot of:

“Dude, I think I’m going go one, four-six, three.”
“Dude, that would be awesome. Did I tell you what I got last night?”
“No, what?”
“I went four, two-three-nine, two.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“No, why?”
“I GOT THE SAME THING YESTERDAY!”

[fifteen minutes of high-fiving and hysterical laughter, then six hours of re-telling the story to others in the group]

So if you live in a high-stoner area and are looking for a business opportunity, I’d advise you to check out Wok To Walk.

Nearly got hit by numerous bicycles, cars and trams. When you think about it, Amsterdam has to be one of the worst places in the world to stumble around high. First, there are hundreds (not an exaggeration) of bicyclists zipping around the streets. Then you have these above-ground trams that run right on the street level, as opposed to elevated platforms. And then there are a shit-ton of cars, most of them little, zooming around. Finally, THERE ARE MILES AND MILES OF CANALS. It’s not so much a city but an obstacle course.

(Also, I probably saw two thousand different people on cycles or Vespas over the course of the trip, and not a single helmet. Not a one. Get with it, Amsterdam.)

Had an incredible time. I don’t know many people who can do mushrooms with a group that includes nine guys they’ve known since they were six years old (and two new buddies) and laugh so hard and for so long that they throw up (the mushrooms might have had something to do with that) (just guessing, that is, since this is all hypothetical, of course). Two weeks ago I was partying in a suite in Vegas with some of my best buddies from college and high school, and two days ago I was partying in goddamned Amsterdam with the same guys I went to first grade with. I am a lucky sumbitch.

(By the way, the picture above is the best picture I took in Amsterdam. Out of 70 pictures, this one is the best. Get me stoned and give me a camera and I will make the magic happen.)