Last spring, my buddy and I roadtripped the Balkans. Two travel writers, two very different tales and forty packets of grapefruit gum...
He said: "Hatboy, Amanda's beau, had run off with a backpacker sporting a diamond tooth. My job as best friend had clearly been to drop everything at my Alaska home and join Amanda for a Balkan road tripthe cure of wander, she explained, to recover from lust. On whim and a bad map, we mini-golfed in Slovenia, drank wormwood wine at truck stops, and stared down an alpaca grazing a castle lawn. Nervous at the war-scarred Bosnian frontier, Amanda punched me: "Lunch? You told the guards we only came for lunch?"
Read Edward's full story in "National Geographic Traveler" (May/June, p 137)
She said: Where, exactly, are the ladies? Edward asked, as we surveyed an overgrown Roman ruin. You promised chicks, he complained days later, as we hiked along the Plitvica Jezera, a cascading chain of peacock-colored lakes. Maybe that Black Madonna icon could send me just one gorgeous woman? he suggested at the famous pilgrimage church of Marija Bistrica.
"And finally, in a fit of exasperation and to distract from the bomb craters and old tank barricades on the Bosnian border What type of wingwoman are you anyway? I fly 5,000 miles and you cant produce a single babe?
Read my version in "Road and Travel".
Hatboy formerly known as the Inappropriate Beau said: A diamond tooth is hot, f*cking hot.
Read HB's spirited defense of bling in the grill.