Pictured: Me

Hello my darlings. I have returned after a fortnight of gallivanting around the Northern Hemisphere and I have some fresh grievances to bestow upon you regarding a place colloquially known as “Europe.” It was terrible.

You’re familiar with “Europe,” correct? It’s this cramped little land mass to the east of America, made up of different cultures that are all essentially the same thing. Wine, five-hour lunch breaks, cover charges at the restaurants, dusty museums and churches for, like, God or something.

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People say Europe is “sophisticated” and “cultured” and in some places even “quaint.” Why these are adjectives worth traveling for I do not know, because in my opinion, feudalistic Europe was its golden age—that was its peak. Back then society’s class structure was defined by birth and economic status, as it should be. It was a time where you worked on your lord or lady’s land in exchange for protection because at any given moment, your farm could be pillaged by a warring neighbor, thus ensuring your loyalty. Where executions were totally chill and your legal team wouldn’t have to get involved.

I mean, yes, that’s how I run my various properties now, but we’re talking a whole continent here.

Now, there are “laws” and “order” and it’s frowned upon to browbeat the help with an umbrella? Western civilization is truly in decline.

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I borrowed a friend’s Ferrari 488 GTB when I was visiting the Amalfi Coast. And by friend, I mean the dealership gave it to me because I had a can of gasoline and a book of matches tucked under my arm when I went in. So, we’re basically friends.

If you’ve ever been to the Amalfi Coast, you’ll know that the roads are narrow, and to make matters worse other people insisted on driving on them at the same time as I was. That was fine. In a rare stroke of generosity, I didn’t immediately call in an airstrike to clear the roads.

But what was puzzling was that the other drivers didn’t immediately spring out of my way when they saw the Ferrari coming. The dual-clutch ‘box snarled unhappily, constantly singing between two gears as traffic crawled and my patience stretched thin.

But I realized that I couldn’t cause wanton destruction because, if you’ll recall, I recently purchased a home in Milan and I don’t think the “Italian government,” if one were to describe this cesspit of modern cowardice and bureaucratic inefficiency so charitably, would take it very well if I destroyed Amalfi. They might take my house and I was sad to realize that there wasn’t much I could do about it.

This put me in a highly meditative mood. Maybe blunt force isn’t the way to get what you want. Maybe destruction and violence isn’t always the answer. Maybe wanton debasement of every lesser person I come across isn’t the right approach to every problem. This was certainly a new idea for me.

But what if it’s blunt force against a much smaller group of people? Like people who don’t realize the car service of a high rise apartment prioritizes me over, well, everything else? I don’t see any problems there.

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So I guess that’s why people go to Europe. It offers a lot of perspective that you just don’t get here in the United States. I highly encourage you to go. You’ll come back much more worldly, which you can then lord over your provincial friends and family. That’s the whole point of going to Europe.