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Unlike this website, all good things come to an end. I’m sorry kids. We gots to leave.

Nice, you were great. Your clear, blue skies. Your 15th century villages. Hell, you even had running water. Thank you. Really. But this Bitch has got to go.

You know what I’ll remember most? Is it the office on the Mediterranean? Or the peaceful terrace up in the foothills of the Alps? How about that time a few weeks ago when I cut my nipple shaving and I just so happened to have fresh, starched sheets on the bed?

Nice, I’ll remember it all. Even though somebody’s Goddamn dog keeps crapping in my parking spot, it’ll be a memory I tuck away in my metaphorical safety deposit box.

Where will we go next? We don’t know. But we’re pretty sure we’re gonna have to learn a new language. And that’s ok ‘cause chicks dig dudes with accents. Except the deaf ones.

Fu*k I hope it's not America.