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The Little Differences

A sit-down chat with Prof. Matt Sampson.

Recently my good friend and loose acquaintance, Matt Sampson, left for a three month sojourn in Europe without so much as a ‘goodbye’, more of an elaborate hoax to make people think he was entered onto an international version of MTV’s ‘The Real World’. Be that as it may, I deemed it necessary to find time between my busy quitting-Subway and becoming-aroused-by-small-animals schedule to sit down with Matt and find out exactly what went down, dawg.

Tommy: So tell me again about the hostel bars?

Matt: Well what do you want to know?

Tommy: Well getting trashed is legal there, right?

Matt: Well, I mean, it’s legal, but it ain’t 100% legal. I mean, you can’t just walk into a restaurant, mainline some absinthe and start tripping balls. They want you to have a few beers first, maybe meet some deceptively underage women, do karaoke in languages you’ve never heard of before, get lost in a Red Light District, steal things from town halls, go swimming in a loch, climb on public monuments, things like that.

Tommy: And that’s what you do in Europe, right?

Matt: OK, it breaks down like this. It’s legal to buy booze in supermarkets, it’s legal to drink it almost anywhere, and if you’re the proprietor of a bar, it’s legal to sell it to pretty much anyone, regardless of age, gender or ability to stand up straight. It’s illegal to steal it, but that doesn’t matter, cause if you get stopped by a cop in Europe, chances are you’ll be so high you won’t notice you’re in jail till the week after anyways.

Tommy: That’s it, man – I’m fuckin’ going, that’s all there is to it, I’m fuckin’ going.

Matt: I know, baby, you’ll dig it the most. But you know what the funniest thing about Europe is?

Tommy: What?

It’s the little differences.

Tommy and Matt conducted most of this interview in their Chevy, then realised they should have shotguns for this kind of deal.

It’s been about two weeks since I returned from an alcohol-soaked, party-centric Eurotrek through the western countries of Europe, in which I hit more than twenty-five cities and did irreparable damage to my liver, brain and international reputation. Anyone who tells you to go over there and get a job either hasn’t been there, doesn’t know what they’re talking about, or just plain fucking hates you. Your first trip to Europe should undoubtedly be purely for the experience, and then forgetting all about the experience through dangerous levels of alcohol consumption.

If you don’t have any friends who want to go with you (or just don’t have any friends at all), don’t worry about it, travelling on your own is a terrific experience, provided you’re not a nineteen year old girl who wandered into my hostel room at three in the morning and now has to spend the rest of her life in therapy. If you have a few buddies that are willing to drink with you till you can’t feel feelings anymore, all the better, it’s great to have someone to bail you out of a Belgian prison for attending a film festival party and ordering a round for all your newly found Europals, only to find out later that the beers weren’t free and you’re now being asked for more than 200 euros which you can’t cover because you spent your last cash on an overweight hooker with facial hair named Bettina. Quick useful fact, Gent is about half an hour west of Brussels and has a fantastic Red Light District.

Gent brothels are some of the cheapest and most mind-scarringly terrifying in the known universe.

People often ask me what I miss most about Europe. Is it the freedom, the culture, the people? No. Quite simply, it’s two things:

• Kebab shops in every European city, on nearly every street. And I ain’t even kidding you. Every city you go to in Western Europe has kebab shops, and if you’re in an area that has one, chances are you could see four others whilst standing in its doorway. The areas of Paris, for example that have, shall we say, more terrorist-oriented races populating them, can have five or six kebab shops right next door to each other, followed by five or six houses to give the kebab shop owners shelter (as if their body hair, odour and seemingly never ending grease secretions were insufficient), and that will make up the entirety of the street. To the French zoning commissioners, that’s a useful way to allocate the space. Residential, Commercial, Industrial and Kebab. No wonder we still don’t have a cure for cancer.

• Nudity in advertising. The last, and most powerful of the European Intoxication Trifecta. It doesn’t matter what the fuck those Euros are selling, be it shoes, condoms, deodorant or children’s schools, there’s going to be a girl on a billboard with her tits out. It’s the kind of thing that actually numbs you to a state where you only notice when someone’s fully clothed, and will say to the person unlucky enough to be next to you, ‘My word,’ at which point your monocle should pop out, ‘that chick has got her tits in! I haven’t actually seen a bra since I left home! And that was on my father!’ Oh that’s right, kids, they were disturbing times.

If you put these two things together, you basically have hot, greasy, delicious food and boobs everywhere you look. What, I ask you, could more accurately fulfil a man’s desires? Add to that getting trashed every night and being surrounded by women who think the Australian accent is the hottest thing since Orlando Bloom’s last piece of homoerotic celluloid, and that’s a recipe for shenanigans. Just take this email which I recently had the pleasure to send to our head honcho:

Mr Howard was very pleased to receive my letter and his puppet friend, Mr Costello, read it with him.

> Original Message Follows

> To: Mr Sheen <johnhoward@australiangovernment.com.au>
> From : Matt 'Eurotrash' Sampson <mitsarensen@pseudonyms.com>

---

Dear Mr Howard,

My name is Matt Sampson, I have been an Australian citizen for all of my 21 years but have currently just returned from holidays in Europe. I am writing to you, sir, for a matter I consider of the utmost importance. Although I am aware Australia has intelligence agencies that are monitoring situations around the globe, I believe they have overlooked a crucial fact that is crippling our nation as you read this. I am, quite simply, shocked that no member of your cabinet is either aware of this or has thought to bring this to your attention:

Swiss women are the goddamn hottest women in the world

No, seriously. I didn't know this either. I got there and was shocked. I think you know where I'm going with this, sir, as you are as intelligent and thorough as I am. Almost. As you already know, in light of this new information, we must immediately withdraw all forces from Iraq and other hotspots around the globe, combine them with forces currently stationed in Australia and the ever-useful-and-deadly Army Reserve, and redeploy them to the new Swiss Front so that we may capture these women and return them to Australian soil where we all know they truly belong. Of course, we must do some research first, such as working out how the hell Swiss men get anything done around here, but it is crucial we secure this country and block it off before some other tourist gets wise as well and alerts their government also. I'm sure there's at least one other person as cluey as I am to do that. Maybe.

Imagine, sir, if the Chinese government beat us to the punch here. They have NUCLEAR ARMS. You can't hug your children with nuclear arms, and we sure as hell can't have amazing, hot, Swiss ski bunnies just parading around our streets if the Commies get here first.

You know this is the right choice, sir. I look forward to your reply, and to the immediate invasion of Switzerland by Australia. Till that happens, I'll head back there and soak up some atmosphere.

On second thoughts, take your time.

Love and kisses to Janette,

Matt Sampson Esq.