Holy Macaroni It's Juli

You see it makes sense because Juli rhymes with macaroni and it's also the German word for July. Wicked stuff.

First off, I have absolutely no idea where I'm going with this post, so I'm just going to wing it like I do for at least 15% of all my posts.

I guess I could start with an apology. That apology being that I won't be around for the next week or so on account of the fact that my Dad decided to screw me over and take me on holiday. What a dick. He must know that I hate him, because that's not fair. Once again we're going to the Alps, but this time on the Italian border in der Naehe von Mont Blanc so we can cross over into Italy whenever we damn well please. I guess it's time to brush up on my Italian then. I must make it clear with myself that the only Italian that I know are musical terms, which doesn't help me at all in normal conversation.

Italian: "Eh it's-a me! Mario!"
Me: "Ah si! Accelerando dimuendo!"
Italian: "Excuse-a-me?"
Me: "Mezzo forte, maestro."
Italian: "Do you no speak-a d'Italianno?"
Me: "Resquiat in pace."
Italian: "Qué?! I do-a not like being in the morde!"
Me: "Bene."
Italian: "Si, bene! I would like you to leave now, senor!"
Me: "Es mucho apprecionado, senor. Ciao! *Returns to group* I think I just booked us a table for four. I couldn't remember three in Italian."

I think at least every Italian person in the world now hates me. I am deeply sorry.

So yeah, I'll be doing that for a week with possibly no internet connection. If that means that I miss Top Gear then I am going to be pissed. Mucho pissado, as the Italians would say.

I will also need to re-know French for this trip. I do have the argument though, that my brother is supposed to be able to speak French now, so I can hopefully get away without it. That's a total and utter lie. I can't do French off the bat any more, but if my brother speaks even a single word of French then I immediately correct him, so I guess I'm not really getting away with anything there.

So what can I say in other news? Not much, really. We're fixing Dukey's car tonight, which should be amusing, if not extremely tiring and arduous. We'll get it done though, that's for sure. I shall probably update you on how well that went later. Or it might be next week, I have no idea.

It turns out that it's going to be now.

If you don't want to know how this story ends, look away now.

First one has to destroy the door entirely. 

Then one needs to consult his massive box of tools.

Then one has to carefully remove the doors. 

And then the doors are gone entirely.

Then one has to look like a complete tit while the doors are off. 

It is but merely a shell. Well, a half-shell. 

One must make sure not to throw the old doors away - just in case. 

Then one must pointlessly remove the dashboard to see if the speedo will work.

Then one must attach the door while other ones act like complete tits in one's company.

Yes, good sir, your doors are fixed. Rejoice!

Well that was all good fun. If you looked away because you didn't want to know how the story ended, then you can look back now.

Yes, of course I realise the irony of that statement, you moron. Shut up.
No, you shut up.
Oh don't you start.

In any case, I guess this is now goodbye for the week. I'll be off, gallivanting around some mountains while you lot are cooped up in your little houses, cradling the dignity you once owned because it has now been sold off to the Mafia to pay for your debts. I'm sorry.