The Stoa holt of Stonehenge

Do my very best, dearest, beautiful readers see the similarity to a certain Austrian, extremely sexy-sounding, heart-winning dialect in the headline?

Right! There he roars loudly, the Styrian panther, and the ladies' panties hit the ground so hard that it knocks over rice sacks in China and the Pentagon in the US starts nervously fiddling with the red button (he wrote fiddling... hehe).

The unworthy traveler had always suspected it, because the Styrian language seems to be an obviously universal, international language of enduring love, which is simply always understood everywhere and by everyone, unlike the horrible, tongue-twisting French that nobody understands except the mumbling French.

"Hey, hit yourself, Puppm. What's going on? You look great! Budan?" and everything becomes clear what a Styrian wants to tell you!

"Vullevukuscheaweckmoa?", no words, nobody understands, what does that mean?

Has he swallowed a ball of wool and is he trying to throw it up right now so that he can then place it in front of his beloved with trusting puppy eyes and a begging demeanor?

If there are such ladies for whom something like this has an aphrodisiac effect, then the dishonorable Gaijin can make a great offer:

Visit the traveling Ungustl in his apartment and he will proudly present to you the regurgitation skills of his annoying tomcat, who peppers every kitty pellet into the room with a cat-like, perfect elegance that only this vomiting tomcat can do.

The unnecessary person will stand next to you with a broad grin and will happily return your longing, shy glances with a cuddly hug.

Um...again a little off topic, the smelly fetid...

So he was at Stonehenge today, the dishonorable gaijin, and ran around in circles with a few other guys (incredibly, there were even Chinese guys there!) so that he could do a few nice eye candy for his reading darlings, and otherwise he gave Berta the spurs afterwards, because a miserable, windy weather front was on his heels like the shit of a mangy handbag-sucker that had mutated into a plump sausage.

Otherwise, the traffic-related Italian vibes still hold, because what the islanders are obviously really good at is parking their cars in front of a roundabout in a traffic jam.