Day 3, Paris (cont'd): My First Brush With Roving Aussies, or, How To Irreparably Damage Your Liver in Just A Few Short Hours

Tonight I went on a pub crawl with a couple of charming young Brits and some slightly less charming young Americans (if only due to the lack of an accent). On this pub crawl, we immediately encountered a rather rambunctious group roving Australians, who were on the back end of a 12-week European tour. By van.

These Aussies, they weren't drinking Fosters. No, they were drinking LITs (that's Long Island Iced Teas to you non-Bucknellians). What's more, though the pub crawl started at 9 PM, they had been drinking since noon. Granted, if I were living in a van with four other smelly Australians for 12 weeks, I'd be in need of a stiff drink as well. But filling a bunch of boisterous Australian dudes with LITs is like giving a chainsaw to a 5-year-old. Things are going to get demolished, and someone's going to end up crying.

These Aussies were given to punching each other (not lightly, either), calling each other "cunt," and calling me "Security." It seems that the dapper outfit I threw together resembles something a security guard in Australia might wear (as if there were such a thing), so every few minutes, I was greeted with "Oi, Security! You gonna arrest me, oi? Have a shot, oi?" and so forth.

Needless to say, I got pretty fucked. Though not "proper fucked."

Confirmed stereotypes:
- Everything you've ever heard about Australians is true
- Girls of every ilk love a British accent

Goodnight.

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