PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!...is

PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!...is bread in French.

The French love their pain all right. Pain with cheese. Pain with meat. Pain with vegetables and more cheese. I loved to

travel to France as often as I could, just to experience their different types of pain. My favorite little pain café was right off of Rue Saint-Denis. There, you can get the most

Such is the life outside 7-11 in Hampsburg, Virginia. All I wanted was a pack of smokes, a Coke Zero and those pizza flavored pretzel roll things. You see, I'd just quit my

job to hike across the country with my dead girlfriend's ashes in my pack, scattering a few here and there. She wanted to travel in life but never could, so I figured this was

the appropriate way of dealing with them. It was sad, really. I let my Dad know. "There are other fish in the sea," he choked over the phone. He was right. As I was hitchhiking

to visit Beijing Aquarium I couldn't help but think about my dad being deeply hurt by the whole experience. The truck turned off the

the highway onto a dark road which led me straight into a village of pygmy mongoloids. They took me in, fed me, and let me have my way with their sheep. I stayed for a week, and

Ate the best venison stew ever, made by a 90 year old grandmother who had made the same venison stew since age 16! She walked without a cane and faster than me!