Esprit de Corpse 2

I’m fairly certain that getting my last post up cost me upwards of $90. I was trying to buy wifi time at a rest stop, and first hit a button to buy the time, which didn’t go through, oddly I thought. So I did it again and then my credit card company called me about an odd charge that they blocked. Presumably, they thought it odd I was suddenly in Germany. Thanks, BofA, your due diligence in monitoring my card activities cost me 60 irretrievable dollars, because I never got a chance to get my login password. After talking with a machine, I finally made a third charge and got online. Fuck my life. Travel tip: call your bank and credit card companies in advance of traveling and remind them not to fuck you in the ass.

Impaled had two days of travel ahead of us to make the show in Torino. We stopped for supplies late in the night in Germany on our way to camp out in Switzerland.

At Kaufsland, the German version of Wal-Mart and every bit as classy, they sell soup made of Smurfs. We arrived to the checkout counter at 10:02 pm. They stopped selling alcohol in this county at 10:00 pm. Fuck my life. Camping with no drink? Conny sturmed out, and after she calmed down, I asked her to sturm back in and ask someone about this. Well, apparently gas stations get around this law by having a bistro license. Basically, they have table inside no one uses nestled in next to porn DVDs and stickers of Calvin peeing on something. The evening was saved! Never give up, never stay dry.

We drove into Switzerland with no passport checks. Odd, but great. We drove in the night to camp put in a parking lot next to the village of Gruyères. The village is famous for fine dairy products, evidenced by the cow bells we heard all night long, and penis collage artwork. Yes. It just happened to be on our path, a checklist for my bucket list that I’ve missed out on time and time again: the H.R. Giger museum and bar. Hells. Yes.

In the morning we awoke after some hard drinking and found a bunch of rich people parking next to our sloppy asses in fancy antique cars and sweaters tied around their necks. I guess these Swiss organized a fancy car show with money from the gold fillings they collected.

A short walk up a beautiful hillside from our campsite in the parking lot, and I entered the castle gates into the most quaint village full of lively people and totally overpriced coffee. I walked about a quarter of a mile, and then staring me in the face was a Giger baby bullett, totally out of place amongst the serenity. Like I was, if the stares were any indication.

The museum and bar are right across the path from one another. I highly recommend sitting in a Harkonen chair at the bar and getting the Alien Coffee, which includes the coffee, some thick, genuine Gruyères cream, a few merengues, and a shot of Grand Gruyères, a delicious green local liquor that is like a spicier Schnappes. Sköl!

After that coffee, and waking up in a parking lot, you’re probably ready to poop. The WC is across the way next to the museum behind an unassuming black door. Make sure to have a porcelain visitation, because hidden in there is this:

The Giger Bar… A great place for kids… hung up on walls.

Actually, good for people of all ages.

It really was an amazing museum: two stories filled with Giger originals, like Alien production paintings, huge triptychs for his Necronomicon, the Species Ghost Train, and the full Harkonen table and chair set. I was like a little kid again, sleeping with my Kenner Alien doll from the ’70s. Yeah, I was a weird kid.

On our way out of Switzerland, we got to see another landmark: Montreux and Lake Lèman, where there was Smoke on the Water. Frank Zappa and the Mothers weren’t there anymore, and the lake was more beautiful than smokey. A nice bit of rock ‘n’ roll history to note nonetheless.

We finally arrived in Torino around 6pm. I was hoping for a Gran Torino, but Clint Eastwood masterpieces aside, this is a… city. We had time enough today to finally check out all our gear and dial it in, and it sounds pretty good. Of course we had time, the show was to START at 11pm. Ah, Italia, where there’s never a rush. Anyway, I’m particularly pleased with my bass tone, considering I really didn’t enjoy these same Ashdown bass cabs a scant two months ago. Maybe it’s the different head and pedal, I dunno.

You know what stinks reeeeal bad? A room full of Italians on a muggy summer day. My people, we Italians have an amazing ability for stench. Porko dio.

The crowd airs out their olive pits.

We had two tragedies today… Jason threw out his back and the food dye we bought here sucks. So we are still very clean doktors in our surgical gowns. Conny say she misses our uniforms. Of course she does, she’s German. As for Jason, now he gets my vicodins that were a present for a “good time.” Le sigh.

A curious thing that a lot of Americans are surprised at here is backline sharing. In Europe, the headlining band, who has rented all the gear, is expected to share it with the opening bands. I first encountered this with Wolves, and later with Ludicra. Raul was especially none too pleased, but we talked him into it, so long as it’s just toms and kick. Those stands are not to be touched, and understandably as they take too long to adjust later. Really though, Europeans probably need to know this is a foreign practice to Americans, and springing the news after the tour is started is no good. Any Americans reading this, consider yourselves warned. The trade off is all the awesome food, better pay, and free accommodations.

We had a good show with Infected and Bribe from Italy. I was really impressed with Bribe’s ability to throw 15 artificial harmonics into each riff. We played an incredibly long set, rife with the technical foul ups, bleeps and blunders we should be famous for by now. The tigers danced the night away, though i think we tired ’em out towards the end. Considerations of shortening the set may be needed. And now it’s time for me to start drinking some beer. If there’s any left.

Doktor Ross Sewage
www.doktorsewage.com
The G.O.R.E. Corps Minister of Filth
reporting from field of battle: Europa