Bad and Bruggie

I had a brief modeling career in Brugge, Belgium. I found a beer by the red door and I drank it down like a fish. My forearms got a 16 ounce workout, as you can tell by their physical fitness. My photographer stood across the street so I wouldn’t bring attention to the 8 pack under my Hamm’s beer T-shirt. I was discreet and incredibly humbled to be in Brugge, Belgium, with my best foot forward. The land of decadent chocolate, waffles, French fries and beer welcomed me to its cobblestoned streets. The history is so impressive, beyond the scope of American history. The history dwarfs continental US history. I mean, we’re talking about some William the Conqueror type shit. Way back when shit was hitting the fan, Bigtime.

We had dinner and beer and steak and made our best effort to make conversation will those who would have it. We walked and talked and looked at the chocolatiers who made chocolates in the shape of boobs and other nonsense. A tourist trap, no doubt, my attention was steadfast on their detailing. I wanted to eat a small bit of all the varieties of confections. But, the beer made me spellbound. Trappiste, please.

We ran across some fellow American tourists who were taking the same walking tour as ours. I made headway by asking them if they knew where the Bergermeister lives and if there will be any toys for Christmas.

The architecture is beautiful. The lines on the buildings are so distinct and cut, like a perfect chisel was used beautifully. The symmetry is epic. I need to know what that design is named. I need to back track and find the name of the restaurant that hosted us with a steak dinner and beers. After all, this was the location of my first Brugge photo shoot.