Jeffrey’s Journey

I woke up today feeling like a pig who’s been wallowing in his mud puddle for the last 5 hours; I could still taste my last cigarette in my breath from the night before, I had the crusty eyes, drool on the side of my face, my pants were half way down my ass, and my first though was: where the hell am I?

It turns out, I’m in Taiwan again and it’s great. However, I’ve always believed that Taiwan is a place where you need a local’s point of view to really be able to appreciate it. You need a friend, family members, or some kind of connection to the locals to really appreciate it for what it is, to really see it for what it is, because once you do, a whole new world will appear, a new fantastic point of view, a thousand dazzling things to see, every turn’s a surprise, and you’ll feel like you’re on a magic carpet ride. You know, like the song.

No but seriously, you’ll find the best little hole in the walls restaurants to eat at, the shittiest but most comfortable little bars to drink at, and if you’re really lucky (or unlucky), you’ll witness first hand the abilities of the locals in their favorite past time: Karaoke!

Tomorrow I’ve decided I’m going to have lunch at this little food kart that serves the best fried chicken in the world. IN THE WORLD, literally. I’ve thought about it so much and for so long, it seems the memory of the chicken is better than the memory of your fondest sexual experiences and just as good as the ones you still masturbate to. My memory of it goes something like an Olive Garden commercial, except it’s a piece of juicy, tender, tasty fried chicken in a paper bag and it’s in slow motion, and oddly it’s with no sound. You may think I’m exaggerating but I wish I could bring a few pieces back and prove it to you. Nancy, if you’re reading this, I need to take you to this place. To me, it’s climax served in a paper bag.