Spain

Madrid

: Cat’s Hostel Madrid. Place where I was supposed to have spent my first night abroad. Those plans unfortunately fell apart when my college buddy Clough and I got too hammered to find our way back, arbitrarily decided the hostel was in two separate directions, said our “fuck you”s to each other, split up and didn’t respectively stagger back until well after daybreak the following morning.

: Glass ceiling of the lobby at Cat’s Hostel – shown in the picture previous. I was hopin’ a bunch of SWAT team guys in masks were gonna drop down through it and slide down ropes with masks on and start shootin’ up the place like in action movies, but, as you might’ve guessed, they never did.

: Some kind of winged man-beast gettin’ on top of his dome game on the streets of Madrid

: Would you buy your clothes from a store called Yuck?

: Me wipin’ some Botero ass in Plaza de Colon

: All day siesta for this monster-gutted sluggo. He was there when we entered La Reina Sofia and remained in place for hours following our departure. He must’ve been worn out from wrapping the excess flab of his fat paunch around his love hammer and using it to pound his piece all morning long.

: Getting in touch with my cultured side at La Reina Sofia. I’d love to toss a bunch of drunk guys in the middle of a shrubbery maze and film the frustration of their long and grueling escape.

: Molester Convention

: If this is considered art that’s worthy of being in a museum, maybe I should take a few pictures of my bedroom each time I drunkenly tear it apart and start cashing in on my messy, destructive habits.

: A most dreary scene – a visual recreation of the funeral for King Philip’s favorite midget entertainer in the early 1700s.

: Crazy Sarah Silverman lookalike/Dunkin Donut employee who took it upon herself to start chuckin shit at us as we crushed a quick bagel breakfast – puta loca!

: Goin’ to watch some Spaniards get their stab on and merk some bulls at Plaza de Toros de Las Ventas

: The plaza: Pre-execution

: The entrance of the cavalry – if the matador struggles to kill the bull on his own, these ruffians jump in and lend a helping hand…or blade, rather.

: A quick spinal stab by the heartless horseman up against the boards

: I was debating whether or not I should run in the ring and streak the gruesome exhibition, but I figured my fire pubes might inadvertantly attract the angry charge of the bull

: On the charge…

: …HE GONE! (The crowd goes wild). I honestly don’t think the matador has ever lost. In Running Man terms, the bulls need an Arnold Schwarzenegger to the Spainiards’ Richard Dawson to flip the script on them punk-bitch stalkers.

: For the bulls of Spain, lifes a drag…literally.

: Capital city swag

: Puerta del Sol – Absolutely teeming with model broads, a place where I’ll one day return para encontrar mi mujer.

: Street festival raging with my buddy Clit and our L.A. compadres, Oscar and Adam

: Smokin’ Moroccan hash with a Portuguese bro that snuck it into the country via his asshole – does that make me gay?

Barcelona

: Columbus Monument – Barthelona

: Cristobal Colon disco dancing

: It ain’t worth it to piss or shit in public places in Barcelona…if you’re a pussy and are actually scared of getting caught. Gotta love the guy’s arms akimbo stance in the warning though.

: Pimpin’

: Side view of the perpetually unfinished Sagrada Familia basilica

: Started in 1882, The Basilica of La Sagrada Familia is not projected to reach completion until some time after 2026 – too many siestas, not enough trabajo.

: Me and The Clitmaster gettin’ our rooftop pool swim on just before we got all those tannin’ bitches naked and had a Captain Stabbin’ style orgy on the deck

: Bunch of Segway-ridin’, Barce-bags gettin’ their motherfuckin’ roll on at the seaside boardwalk where the infamously nude, tattooed and monster-cocked “Elephant Man” likes to strut his stuff.

: Gated community? Most bums I come across reside in cardboard boxes…

: This tagger must’ve been very passionate about his pornography

: Baby-in-a-bag reverse kangaroo action at a Barcelona bus station

: Italian bro diggin’ the booger sugar at a blackjack table in Gran Casino de Barcelona. Other funny attire I came across while in Europe had been a guy with a shirt that said “Kike” at Termini station in Rome and a dude in Girona sporting baseball cap that just said “Tom Cruise” where it should’ve said “Top Gun” on the 80’s hit movie’s logo

: Constant porn every night. Looks like teenage boys in Barcelona don’t have to look nearly as hard for whacking material as I had when I was a young up & cummer.

: A leisurely stroll through a park where ping pong had been the sport of choice

: Green jabroni

: Cafflick Church – Temple de Sagrat Cor

: Sippin’ on dat Jesus juice

: Jesus & Pals

: The man with the plan using his arms to convey to the people of Barcelona how big T. Lal’s johnson is

: View of the city from the base of J-Bone’s feet shown in the picture previous

: Sea wall graffiti. Barcelona taggers are exremely respectful of each other’s space

: I haven’t seen such blatant confusion between “six” and “sex” since the deaf, tennis-ball-retrieving broad in an episode of Seinfeld thought Jerry had said, “How ’bout six, six is good,” when trying to ask her what time she wanted him to pick her up.

: Up close tag swag

Valencia/Buñol

: Queen Sofia Palace of the Arts

: Same shit, different angle. When we rolled into town a group of climbers had been scaling the Queen Sofia

: The sky in this picture is the exact same color of the special Alaskan glacier water that Bobby Boucher gives to Vicki Valencourt in The Waterboy

: Cigarettes kill boners in Spain

: Rape a la Marinara? Yeah, I too use Ragu for lube when gettin’ my forceful fuck face on.

: Packin’ into Bunol for Spain’s annual La Tomatina Festival

: Up ahead in the distance, a group of rowdy drunken Spaniards struggle to climb a greased up pole known as the “palo jabon” to retrieve a full-size ham that sits atop. The La Tomatina Festivities can not officially begin until the ham’s been snagged.

: The locals in their protective cages did not hesitate to blast anyone and everyone in the face with their hoses

: Garbage truck sized automobiles filled with Spaniards and the harvest’s rotten tomato bullshit unfit for consumption

: It was so jam-packed when these trucks parted the crowd that I had trouble raising my arms to defend my vulnerable chops from the savage tomato blows dealt by these dudes.

: The Clitbanger in his neon cap bracing for tomato impact

: A street full of gazpacho

: I got stuffed with all kinds of meat at Boned restaurant in Ibiza

Girona

: A quaint, picturesque little town, it is.

: Hossa standing in awe of the under-explored hinterland behind Girona Cathedral

: Looks pointy and unforgiving

: Translation of the crudely green-marker-written message inscribed on the side of the nearly millenium-old church: “Do you want to share your life with me, I’m 46 years old (string of digits inserted here).” The drawing on the left speaks for itself.

: Amen

: Think any perverted glassmakers back in the day ever put together some stained glass porn?

: Looks like someone exploded this door on Kid Pix then froze the screen with all the detonation ripples emanating from the epicenter.

: One more glass for the road

: Street view of Girona

: Artwork on the walls of our hostel. A snoring chump getting punked with diarrhea. You better make room for this one in La Reina Sofia.

: Went hiking up a hill and found Ronald fuckin’ McDonald chillin’ out in some random-ass backyard. There were no McDonalds restaurants in Girona, which means this family specially ordered a life-size Ronald statue from an outside source for their garden. Can anyone say “clown fetish?”