No one in their right mind would wake up at 6.15 Monday morning. Which, simply, is a roundabout way of saying that I did just that today.

Of course, I told myself, it was for a worthy course. We were driving Herr Höning out of Deutschland after all. There will be a huge vacuum of well-rounded weirdness once he’s gone. As if Munich wasn’t normal enough as it is.

(I say this like someone who’s staying but I ain’t, am I? Future days, future days.)

One supposes more sense could be made from this historical narrative if one were to delve briefly into the recent past. That means yesterday in plainspeak, when I finally braved the horrendous weather to come out of my warm and cosy hidey-hole to spend the last evening of cualdo the mgt. with the said vertically challenged person.

It wasn’t exactly the best night to go out with all the rain, but the lovely meal at the Paulaner bierkeller more than made up for it. I can remember what it’s called but we had beer-marinated beef patties in a mushroom sauce with käsespätzle. Wunder-freakin’-bar.

Most of the time that wasn’t spent dining on that fine, fine food (though I wouldn’t go as far as saying I love Bavarian food like Blue and Hadi, though it’s mighty fine at its best) was spent on finishing Mike’s drawing. It’s no longer what might possibly be the most detailed drawing I’ve done. It IS the most detailed drawing I’ve done.

Due in part to the present peer pressure, the only white space on the damned thing was the midget Elvis from Mars’ suit. Which suited little cualdo just fine.

Here’s where the problem comes in. Mike was getting a ride to the airport with Chiara’s boyfriend, Davide, and had to leave at the sweet hour of half past seven. Which meant I had to get up at, say it with me, boys and girls, 6.15 a.m. to be in Stusta in time.

Factor in the drawing I wanted to do for Shannon, well, let’s just say it ended up being a long night. Hers was the first that wasn’t the first piece I started out with (I actually threw two attempts out before settling on the third), partly cuz she insisted on no naked women or bloody gore.

Mission Almost Impossible.

What I finally did I’m not gonna reveal here, least not yet, cuz the girl does deserve a surprise, no? (Despite hating BACON. Marco, you should have done her in with the breadknife when you had the chance. She’s as good as a vegetarian!)

Let’s just say it is quite on the other extreme of the spectrum from J-Dawg’s: it’s the least detailed I’ve done, and, rather nicely for me, my first comic strip, even if it’s only one panel. I will also add that it guest-stars Edward Gorey and Andy Warhol. Damn, I think I’ve said too much already.

Which reminds me, ye bastards. Every one of you who’s got a piece of me (so to speak) should immediately scan that piece of crap and send a copy to me. I’m not about having to visit some neo-post-Modernist-whatever artsy-fartsy gallery in Soho twenty years from now when my Parkinson’s kicks in and I can no longer wield my mighty sword just to see something I drew on the fly once for a pal. You hear me?

Good. Needing Manuel to describe (vividly and accurately, might I add) the intimate details of the ladies prancing all over Useless McGyver’s pornographic coaster is more embarrassing than you would think.

Where was I? Right. Stusta. This morning. Rain and winds and cold, dampwetcold. Add to that a very short night prior spent mostly arguing with Blue about movies and music in what must ahve been a nightmare. He, on the other hand, was highly amused when I told him. Bastard.

Breakfast at the Brotladen with Blue, Chiara, Davide and Michael (the German one). Clearing out before eight. Blue wanted to drop by a gas station to get some Knoppers (chocolate-stuffed wafer candy) he promised to get Shannon.

However, the weather being the way it was, it was better to play safe and get to the airport first. Now, this is really of no longer relevance whatsoever other than, when coupled with another half an hour at the airport spent looking for the said Knoppers before safely securing some, to induce some kind of guilt trip in Ms. Downey.

(How’s that, Mike?)

We had a fine time at the luggage check. I helped Blue with one of his suitcases, and nice guy that I am, the lady was finished with me in two shakes of a duck’s tail. Blue, however, took somewhat longer. Like fifteen minutes. That was one thorough woman. We need women like her in stripsearch.

He always looks more suspicion-worthy than he really is. That orang utan wrapped around his neck didn’t help matters, I bet. Plus shorts. Shorts, on a day like this! Ga.

Okey. Time for goodbyes. Hugs and waves and a promise to drop by Malaysia in two years. You betcha.

The drive back to Stusta was spent (is it just me or am I using the word “spent” way too much today?) discussing languages with Chiara. Davide mostly looked worriedly at the slippery roads while we chatted happily away about how French was almost completely useless these days and Blue must be the first person to have come to Germany to learn Japanese.

Lunch then a much needed nap. Big mistake. Dreamt of little bone-gnashing monster boys with demonic and furry mothers (Furies, I hear they’re called) and yours truly just dangling helplessly from the ceiling, together with a trapeze of human bait, just thrashing wildly and kicking those little suckers’ heads in. Complex words, wordy words, alternating and dissipating into the black screen before my eyes.

And then I woke.

Ga. (And you wonder why I hate afternoon naps.)

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Copyright © 2002 Kenny Mah Ying Fye.