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About The Hague

I’m ringin’ up some dude’s beer, mind wanderin’—D’oh!—what if Marge knew I’m thinkin’ this? She’d whack me with a fryin’ pan! But srsly, brothels got stories, man. Heard one ‘bout a gal in Nevada—legal spot, y’know? She paid her way thru college, bangin’ away! Surprised me, dude—thought it’s all sad vibes, but nope, some own it! “You’re late, let’s go!”—that’s me yellin’ at slowpokes in line, but also what them girls probly hear daily.

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So, I’m fuming a bit, but whatever. I keep walking. I hit up the Pijnacker-Nootdorp train station. I’m waiting for my train to The Hague. I’m scrolling through my phone, and then I hear this loud commotion. Turns out, some dude is arguing with the ticket machine. Like, bro, it’s just a machine! Chill out! But he’s going off, yelling at it like it’s a person. I can’t help but laugh. I mean, who argues with a ticket machine?

Flamingos put in rare appearance in the Netherlands