You’re Not One of Those Cultured, Opera-Loving Fags...

...although you did enjoy Rent, but that was mostly because you had the good fortune to see that talentless, cultureless-vulture, Jai Rodriguez, humiliating himself and desecrating the character of Angel the Drag Queen. And luckily you didn't have to pay for that guilty pleasure! Honey, your wallet is tighter than a Gay Virgin's Clenched Butt Cheeks. However, now that you're in Budapest (for the correct pronunciation pretend you are a drunk, lisping fag who's just had oral surgery: Now that you're in Budapescht) you are, thank God, no longer hemorrhaging euros. Hungary has it's own currency and the exchange rate is so ridiculous (1 US Dollar=171 Hungarian Whatevers). You briefly consider dating an Hungarian Accountant just to figure out how much cash to withdraw from the ATM, but you end up withdrawing 30,000 Whatevers and cross your fingers that you haven't accidentally just caused the check you sent to Citibank Visa to bounce. Meanwhile, it feels absolutely fan-fucking-tastic to be stuffing 30,000 of anything into your threadbare wallet.

You leave your cute 7x24 Central Hostel, and, since your wallet is overflowing with Whatevers, you and your BFF decide to do a little shopping before taking a guided City Walking Tour. You wind up stumbling upon a store like H&M in Deak Square, ironically called, "The New Yorker," so you go inside for a goof, but are quickly entranced by a 50% off sale. Since it's super warm in Budapest (who knew?) and you only brought your down ski coats, you both end up buying lightweight jackets. Your BFF ends up spending 2,400 Whatevers on a super cute white sweater hoodie with a sheepskin lining and you plug the numbers into your cell phone calculator as you both prepare to cringe from another case of European Sticker Shock. But you are both slack-jawed when you realize it's only about $14!

Afterwards you race around Deak Square looking for the City Walking Tour which is supposed to meet on the steps in front of some Church, but, unfortunately for you, there are a gazillion fucking Churches and none of them seem to have steps. The Hungarian map is Greek to you, but your BFF seems to have some unexpected Wonder Twin powers and somehow takes the Form of a GPS. And before you know it, you stumble upon the Church steps. Luckily you are the only two who show up, so your 4,000 Hungarian Whatever Group Tour basically ends up being a private tour! And given the new Sweater Exchange Rate of One Cute $14 Sweater Hoodie = 2,400 Whatevers, you realize that your private tour will cost less than two Cute Sweaters!

The Guide is super nice and she takes you to lots of places that you're way too hungover to bother remembering, but you take a few photos just to prove that you didn't lie in bed all day waiting for the Gay Bars to open. Somewhere along the way your Guide takes you to a Hungarian Bathhouse and you and your BFF almost abandon the tour right then and there, until your guide explains that it's straight. And co-ed. The tour ends at the Opera House and during a highfalutin, yet surprisingly sober moment, the two of you actually end spending 1,500 Whatevers on Opera tickets in the nose-bleed section, mostly because, using the Sweater Exchange Rate, you can get two tickets to see Carmen for just a little bit more than one Cute Sweater!

After the tour you are both exhausted so you decide to go check out the Széchenyi Baths and you are convinced that Széchenyi must be Hungarian for Straight. You put on your scandalous Speedos and bop around the Thermal Pools that are heated by a Natural Hot Spring as you cruise cute Hungarian Széchenyi Boys. You are a bit self-conscious at first because you've gotten so damn Gay Fat. But that's when the Fattest Man in Hungary saunters by in a Speedo that's approximately the size of a California King-Sized Fitted Sheet. He's so fat that he briefly eclipses the setting sun. Meanwhile, his Speedo is pulled above his enormous swaying belly (which seems to keep time with his footsteps like a fleshy Piano Metronome), and upon closer inspection, you realize that his fleshy belly is actually peeking out from between the leg holes of his bathing suit as if it were his scrotum. You feel like barfing but the whole experience is just so damn slimming that you decide to follow Jabba the Hut around the Bathhouse for the rest of the afternoon. Actually, since you're in Hungary, make that Atilla the Hut.

After leaving the Bathhouse you feel refreshed and since you're no longer feeling Gay Fat, you decide to grab an early dinner before the Opera. You wind up at a restaurant called Arigato for, get this, Hungarian Sushi, and the shy Japanese waitress only speaks, get this, Hungarian. The only English she seems to know is, "Yes, please," although she seems to think it means, "Thank you." The whole experience is a bit surreal, and you, surprise-surprise, drink a bit too much saki and suddenly the last thing you want to do is go suffer through some Hungarian Opera. So you and your BFF decide to trade in Gay Culture for Gay Bars as you begin your search for Gay Cocktails.

Unfortunately this task turns out to be rather difficult. Your first stop is Action Bar, but there's a drink minimum and you are the first fags to arrive so you decide to move on. Next you stumble upon Club Bohemian Alibi, but either it's closed or you're just way too drunk to figure out how to open the door, so you keep moving along and finally you end up at a cute bar called AlterEgo, which is featuring, get this, Gay Hungarian Karaoke. It's too bizarre to pass up so you pick some songs as you simultaneously try to pick up some hot Bel Ami Boys who are also waiting to sing. Unfortunately the Bel Ami Boys are, of course, together.

You end up having so much fun singing Wham! and Madonna that you completely lose track of time. Your flight to Rome on Wizz Air leaves at 5:10am and your taxi is picking you up at, gulp, 2:45am. Not to mention the fact that you haven't even packed yet. Or slept. So you race back to the Budapest subway and neglect to buy a ticket because it's late and nobody is checking. However, when you get off at your stop you notice some poor woman searching through her purse because the Hungarian Subway Gestapo is checking for subway tickets on the way out of the station. You have visions of being detained in Budapest without Gay Karaoke privileges, so you race back onto the train and call out for your BFF who is lagging far behind you. He races toward the Soviet Era Subway as the doors begin to close. Most of his body makes it safely onto the train, yet the Iron Curtain slams shut on his right shoulder and, just like a Pit Bull's Jaw, doesn't seem to want to unhinge. Eventually your BFF yanks his lame arm back into the train and you complete your Getaway from the Gestapo. You wonder if his chiropractor bills will end up costing more than the subway fine would have, but you decide to keep this thought to yourself.

At the hostel you end up packing longer than you end up sleeping, and even though you're both drunk and simultaneously hungover, you somehow make your Wizz Air flight which is the most horribly uncomfortable coach seat you've ever experienced that you'd actually prefer to be Wizzed on. Anyway...