And One for Waldo (Where the Fuck is that Guy, Anyway?)
Today, we were still sad that we couldn’t go shooting. We also went to Keleti and got partial refunds on our tickets to Romania, since I had to wait on Hungarian customs for the Kindle. It’s cool, because Budapest is awesome, and so was our hostel.
We gave another shot at finding an antique sword for me. The place we went to was owned by this fat Hungarian man. He was insane. And awesome. First of all, he didn’t speak to us in English. However, that doesn’t mean he spoke to us in Magyar, either. He spoke a composite language, a mixture of Engyar and Maglish. He was equally skilled at both and very emphatic about his points. He also used the word “mit” constantly. This man, who I’ll call Mr. Sword, had odd views on war.
Mr. Sword believed that the goodness of a war was based on two main factors: 1) how much it sucked for the people involved and 2) the casualty count. For a war to be a “good war,” both of these factors needed to be high. Very high. He scoffed at modern wars, where people have access to food, water, shelter, and rest. He said that we haven’t had a good war in ages. Mr. Sword claimed that the Allied assault on Normandy was a failure because we only lost 8,000 people. According to Mr. Sword, the Hungarians knew how to fight a real war because they lost 150,000 people. THAT was a good battle, according to Mr. Sword. The fact that people were starving and had no water made it even better.
Mr. Sword also claimed that France and England have been “sleeping,” and Hungary has been fighting wars constantly. He was proud of this (and of the massive casualties, of course). In this vein, he also thought that Will was British, despite Will’s periodic protests. Every time he mentioned England, he would look at Will and shrug apologetically, as if to say, “Sorry, but your country sucks.” After a while, Will gave up protesting and just accepted that he was British. Mr. Sword knows the truth.
I wasn’t in love with Mr. Sword’s swords, but there was an 1800s Hungarian cavalry blade that was okay (poorly maintained, it left rust stains all over me and was a bit shaky in the hilt). We walked in circles for a while looking for another antique sword dealer, then gave up. I didn’t love Mr. Sword’s sword enough to get it. Will and I had a delicious home-cooked (c.f.: Will-cooked) dinner of pasta with onions, peppers, potatoes, and spices.
After dinner, we decided to give America a real party. We went out with MJ (again) to this theme party at some bar. This was actually a lot better, since it didn’t try to be a club. It just had karaoke. The theme was July 4th / The Full Moon. Apparently, this meant men cross-dressing (not the women), two Roman Centurions, a cow, a mouse, and your standard America stuff (fuck yeah!). Will and I played ruit. I sucked. It was sad.
When it started to die down, Will, Chris (a guy who works at the hostel), and this British dude named Phil went to another bar, Szimpla. At Szimpla, we talked about old music and the fact that we’re becoming geriatrics. As I may have mentioned, Szimpla has an outside portion. We realized that maybe it was getting late when the sun rose over the club (well, and they kicked us out so they could close). We were kind of just like “Well, shit, it’s late.” We went to bed.
Will’s Corner
This might just be a bit of craziness on my part, but I always thought that a war was “successful” when your enemy took more damage than you did.
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Dear Joe,
In the epic war against your liver, there may be mass casualties. This means you are winning.
Love,
Will and Andy
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