Best Discos in Berlin

Berghain (Am Wriezener Bahnhof, Berlin, Germany 10243)
The dangerously hip come here to see-and-be-seen. Installed in a renovated old power station, Berghain looks unassuming enough on the outside, but within you'll find an impressive venue packed with the beautiful people of Berlin sweating it out to hard techno and electro. Getting past the doorman here may be akin to customs in LA, so leave the attitude at home. With the beats continuing right through to Sunday afternoons, this is a club for punters with stamina. U-BAHN: Ostbahnhof

Connection Disco (Fuggerstrasse 33, Berlin, Germany 10777 · +49-(0)-30-2181-432)

Attracting the gamut from baby boomers to teens, this two-story dance club offers casual ambience. With an alternative crowd of gay men, there are lots of jeans with leather, and mellow techno tunes. U-BAHN: Wittenberg

Havanna (Hauptstrasse 30, Berlin, Germany 10827 · +49-(0)-30-7848-565)

Berlin's colorful Latin community shares its rich dance and musical heritage at this popular nightclub, located near the post office on Hauptstrasse. Tropical decor, live salsa and merengue pulsating from the sound system, and a youthful clientele eager to show off their best footwork and most stylish duds all combine to make the club's three dance floors among Berlin's hottest spots once the sun goes down. An hour prior to opening, dance classes are offered to novices. U-BAHN: Rathaus Schöneberg or Eisenracher Strasse

Kit Kat Klub (Köpenicker Strasse 76, Berlin, Germany 10179 · +49-(0)-30-278-983-0)

Behind the doors of the notorious Kit Kat Klub, painted ladies (and painted gentlemen) sing and dance as though life in 1930's Berlin were an endless party. But outside those doors, Nazis are marching in the streets, and the stage is being set for the horrors of the Third Reich. U-BAHN: Heinrich-Heine-Str.

Another trip through the looking glass

Turnips here again. I went through the magical portal to check out cricket scores and to see the world of the distant future. Still haven't found anything too interesting but I did find myself on the corner of The Strand and Regent Street and found a gigantic statue to that old rascal Captain Nelson that apparently had been erected at some point after he thrashed some Frenchies and some Spanish Dons. I understand they call him Lord Nelson in the future. Apparently the place was called Trafalgar Square, which was odd as it was really a sort of roadway circle. Anyway, as I was dressed in my normal attire I was amused when some strange looking folks pointed at me in my 18th century garb and called me "eurotrash." I went into the nearby Waterstone's bookstore and asked if they had a copy of Doctor Johnson's book. The helpful clark directed me to a section of what are known in the future as dictionaries and I looked it up.

Euro Trash

From the Urban Dictonary circa The Year of Our Lord 2008

A mildly derisive term used by North Americans. Refers to Europeans who: speak broken English, wear gaudy clothing that is probably fashionable where they come from, but isn’t here; wear a severe amount of cologne and always dress like they are about to go to nightclub (even in the middle of the day); wear lots of inappropriate leather (especially leather pants), listen to bad electronic music, and rock lots of ugly-metallic jewelry. This term is usually only applied to dudes, because foreign chicks can have off style and still be hot.

I wonder if perhaps there is a Barrister's Keepe in this future that caters to "Euro Trash" like us?

Monday Zingers

Turnips here. I was trying out the magicked portal which I picked up during a tour of the harsh desert nomads of Araby. It turns out this time portal allows one to travel to the future where there isn't really much going on. Anyway, I found a bunch of jokes that related to a mid 20th Century American colonial militia known as the Air Force. These don't really make any sense to Old Turnips but since I'm just an Avatar for my real author who was in this militia at one point they seemed to amuse him. I suppose it is curious that when i went through the portal I had a hard time finding a good game of whist. I suppose it was just named something else in that propinquity.

Some of the so-called humor:

• Get what you can, log what you need



• Honor thy airspeed at all times, lest the ground rise up and smite thee



• You know, a BUFF has the power of twelve railroad locomotives, thirty miles of wiring, and enough sheet metal to make fifty thousand trash cans; and that's how it flies: like twelve locomotives dragging fifty thousand trash cans with thirty miles of wire

Conventional Wisdom

• Do as I say, not as I do


• Measure with a micrometer; cut with an ax


• It must be right, its in the book


• If it jams, force it. If it breaks, it needed fixing anyway


• The earliest Christian gets eaten by the hungriest lion


• Live every day like it will be your last - eventually you'll be right


• When everyone is kicking you in the tail, at least you know you're out in front


• If half the people think you go too far, and the other half think you don't go far enough, you must be doing something right

Nemo & Associates Graphic Design Company

I came across this gem on the interweb (Nemo name added to keep current with the blog's present world view)

Nemo & Associates Mission Statement

Our talented team specializes in reinforcing brand identity, marketing, and promotion across all media including web, print, and video. The Nemo & Associates Designs team would be happy to design or re-design high impact business cards, logos, brochures, T-shirts, websites, DVD/CD packages, television commercials,... Just about any visual marketing material for you and your employees.

Keeping it simple and providing all the tools it takes to build your corporate identity and market your services. Nemo & Associates Designs offers a wide range of creative yet affordable solutions to individuals and businesses.

As designers and artists we strive to ensure that your visual materials accurately portray the impression that you set out to create. The dance of art and design is a subtle and subconscious language that transcends all spoken messages. If a picture is truly worth a thousand words, we produce tomes of information conveyed at a glance. Don't know why you like what you like, you just do? We know why, and why your customers do too.

You are ready to improve the look of your promotional materials and design new ones. You want your clients say to themselves, "Hey, I know you!"

First and foremost, you need your customers to find you. Without them walking through your front door, there is no need for you to be in business. Most people are as dumb as rocks when it comes to knowing what they like. “I don’t know why I like it. I just do.” They stumble about their daily lives, believing they are in complete control, when in fact they are waiting to be told what to do. With our promotional material backing your products, you stand with megaphone in hand; ready to direct these lemmings to buy your product or they will somehow be less human with out it.

Understanding that American society contains the densest population of the laziest people in one place, besides that God forsaken waste of terra firma known as Hawaii, is the first step to locating your clients/consumers and understanding their spending habits. Pandering to their every double standard is why we are so successful at this game.

Nemo & Associates Designs’ semi intuitive approach to understanding this emblazoned ideal is our armor and your cunning as an apex predator whilst swimming in a sea of leaches and sharks.

Keep them wanting more. Never justify, simply smokescreen and camouflage while moving in for the next kill. That’s how the big boys do it. Why not you?

Yes, there is a way to move like this, even in a shaky market like today. We will hold your hand through this entire process, as we gently open your wallet. You need to spend money to make money. You need to spend obscene amounts of money to rule the world… unless we’re on your side. We’ll knock 15%off!!

Our policy of “take no prisoners” and “kickin’ ass and takin’ names” is why we are your pit bull in a world of Jehovah’s Witnesses. (Joe’s Witches as we affectionately call them).

Under no circumstance will we give up on your complete lack of understanding of anything pertinent to the subject of art and design. We know what is hot and that is all that you need to know.

We're Nemo & Associates Designs and we're here for YOU

Leicestershire 7 v Nottinghamshire 2

Thank the maker! The stumbling, bumbling Leicestershire Tigers finally won a match against the World Champion Nottinghamshire Red Sox.

Bloody heck that took forever.

During this time (and 90% of this is true unfortunately):

• Lady Turnips has been undergoing vapors related to "hysteria"


• Captain Turnips has been intensively blocked up and had to undergo a course of leeches to remove his intestinal blockage.


• Lord Turnips' feline companion (TM) has suffered a very sad illness which may be grave. (This may be news to Brigadier Rossoroni). This is very concerning.


• Lord Turnips has suffered a loss of mobility and has scheduled a trip to the saw bones.

A Brief Play Entitled "All Them Murders You Done"

I quickly realized that the horrible circumstances of Mr. Frank's death might have a severe psychological impact on the children, namely the Girl Guides, traveling with us. Therefore, I approached the Girl Guides leader, Miss Hasty and requested permission to engage her charges with a fantasical tale of adventure and suspense!

I was certain this story, based on a play I was currently working on with the assistance of my niece the Marchioness Maria Maximilliane von Schmutzmacher (age 12 and part-time nanny to young Captain Turnip), would take their minds from the troubles at hand.

Thus I gathered the Girl Guide troop around and invited our other passengers to attend as I relayed the following tale!

Lord Wiffle proudly surveyed his guests. They were all such wonderful people. Except for Smellings, who had not written back to him in three days. He insisted he was busy hunting vampires, but Wiffle knew that this was a hoax. No one hunted vampires until October. Or it was witches. He had trouble remembering.

Everyone sat in the parlor, chatting away. Smellings was telling stories of hunting vampires. “And then he swooped down at me! His eyes bulged in excitement when he saw the veins running through my left hand! I raised my crucifix and…”

"Ah yes,” interrupted Lord Wiffle. “I’m sure your stories are interesting but I heard there was a witch at the end of your county. Did you burn her?” Smellings shook his head. “She was merely an old woman Wiffle.”

Suddenly, every candle went out and there was a scream.

When the lights returned to normal, Lt. Fraught was lying face down on the rug with a silver knife in his throat. “Good Lord!” cried Wiffle. “That was my good butter knife!”

“I propose,” announced Lord Phineas Wiffle. “That we move the body to the mudroom. It’s staining my rug.” There was a muttering of agreement. Burton the Beergutted (A Viking) was looking around. Smellings pulled Lt. Fraught towards the doorway. Lady Fraught was sobbing. She pulled her husband’s wallet out of his back pocket and slipped it into her purse; probably for evidence. Ms. Warpool, the timid library keeper, was pale white.

There was a brief silence before Smellings said “We must hunt for whoever killed him! They are still in this house by the looks of things.”

Lord Wiffle was outraged. “No crooks enter this house on Tuesdays!”

He then started arguing with Smellings. In a minute, the room was in full uproar. Finally, though, Burton the Beergutted, bellowed “Enough!”

He was fingering his axe lovingly and added. “I can say that we will get nowhere with this petty squabbling!”

Wiffle understood that if they didn’t start something productive soon, everyone would be in the mood for another killing. “Well, he said to the many pairs of eyes on him, “I suggest we look for clues.”

Everyone cheered in agreement.

Mrs. Warpool went with Burton the Beergutted and Lady Fraught and Mort, the old stable hand who looked like he was made of wood and spoke in a deep voice. Lord Wiffle had to find clues with Smellings. As they searched the parlor a storm was breaking outside. That was good. Wyverns could not take flight in such a storm.

Suddenly, Smellings cried out with glee “look Phineas! I have found a smashing piece of evidence!”

Wiffle lumbered over to have a look. On the floor in the corner, hidden behind the umbrella stand, were a pair of leather gloves covered in blood.

“There’s a little label on them” said Wiffle, “If found please return to Mort Avery, stablehand.”

Smelling lept to his feet “Lady Fraught and Mort are on the second floor right now!” he exclaimed.

Smellings and Wiffle raced upstairs to find Lady Fraught lying on the ground, strangled by a curtain cord.

“This is dreadfully exciting” thought Lord Wiffle, “If only the murderer would not use my things.”

Smellings pointed at the carpet. Footprints, Aha! Mort could not hide forever.

Smellings and Wiffle made their way down the hall. Smellings swung open a door and yelped. Inside, the lifeless body of Burton the Beergutted lay impaled by his own axe. This murderer was very neat. Mort’s footprints led to the open window. Lord Wiffle peered out.

“Oh dear” he said, “There goes my stablehand as well.”

For tied to a tower was the corpse of Mort. The storm had stopped and the wyverns had picked his bones clean.

Smellings paced the room. Who could it be now? Mort was clearly not the murderer. Lord Wiffle was getting suspicious.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were the murderer Smellings” Lord Wiffle declared.

Smellings then accused him. There would have been a jolly good fight if it weren’t for Mrs. Warpool.

“I found a clue” she cried. She pointed frantically down the hall. Smellings and Wiffle raced down the hall. It was a dead end. There was an eerily familiar sound, similar to the sound of a gun being cocked. Smellings turned to see Mrs. Warpool holding a gun. Wiffle turned slowly, “Uh-oh.”

“So” Smellings said, “It was you all along.”

Mrs. Warpool smiled.

“Aren’t you going to monologue?” implored Lord Wiffle.

Mrs. Warpool shook her head. There was a bang and Smellings was dead. Next she shot Lord Wiffle.

"The End" I cried aloud as I finished - I'm sure my niece would have been proud of the reaction this story would receive shortly.

Squash Anyone?

Presently, I woke to the sound of whining train brakes as the Caliban pulled into the Birmingham train station. Here the porter unloaded the remains of the late Ensign Cropper of the RBAC and kindly explained to the waiting police constable the circumstances of the tragic accident. The constable shook his head knowingly in response.

Meanwhile, railway labourers loaded three large crates clearly marked “Port of Varna” onto the luggage car. The Girl Guides seemed particularly interested in this development and all crowded onto my side of the compartment.

Additionally, we gained several new passengers, most notably Sir Edbert Bassington, the noted actor currently starring as the Duke Of Plaza-Toro in Gilbert and Sullivan’s “The Gondoliers.” He was a great ruddy faced man with a voracious appetite and a large walrus mustache (like most great British actors). Not unexpectedly, he was accompanied by several retainers including his personal manager, Mr. Frank, a tall, dark haired, sallow faced gentlemen of few words.

Other passengers included an old gypsy woman with a pet orang-utan who wore a derby and curiously dressed young man. This young man wore a large hat whose brim was up-turned on each side, chaps, boots, spurs, a brace of shiny nickel plated revolvers and a bandanna. He also carried a pitchfork and was chewing on a long piece of straw. In his free hand he carried a copy of the farmer’s almanac.

Instantly curious I introduced myself as a world traveler and amateur scientist/adventurer/playwright/swain. He on the other hand was quite laconic and merely noted that he was a simple farmer from America, here in England to attend a Beet Growers Convention.

“Well, you see, cantcha, that A’m jes a simple farmer; names’ Dave, Dave Beabout” he stated simply, pointing at his pitchfork.

“Ah yes, why of course” I replied and then added hastily “You see its rather amusing, because we have another passenger aboard by the name of ‘Pitchfork’ , quite funny don’t you think?”

“’Fraid I don’t get it mister” he answered and then turned away.

I suppose I should have realized that most farmers are quite the dour sort and often dullards with not a thought beyond what manner of vermin might be sneaking into the henhouse (no offense intended of course) and therefore turned back to my own business forthwith.

Luckily, the day was fairly clear and as we headed out of the station I could easily makes out the great gothic keepe set high atop Mt. Birmingham, the home of city’s mistress, Lady Darkholm - Orlock. Much to my surprise lightening then dramatically struck the uppermost tower of the keepe which was quite thrilling indeed!

Regrettably, however, this scene was quickly displaced by one of total darkness as we entered the tunnel which took us below the Horror Moor of Smethwick. Naturally, it is always preferable to travel under the moor at this time of year vice overland due to the wyvern menace.

After a few moments the interior lights came on once again and then I saw that another terrible accident had occurred. Mr. Frank was lying in the corridor, neatly sawn in half. Actually, I can only assume he was neatly sawn in half since only his top half remained.

Yet one more horror remained, however, for it was then I discovered that my new squash racquet had been smashed to splinters by the Girl Guides in their earlier haste to get a good look at those dashed crates! Oh the ignominy.

The Ammonite's crack kitchen staff had indeed prepared the standard "standard sumptuous feast " for Nemo and Lady Lyme Weoghe. Chafing dishes were filled with all sorts of delicious treats such as treacle tart and jammie dodgers. It was simply scrumptious.

Nemo, however was not quite ready to commence dining for he first wished to show-off his latest invention to the Lady Lyme Weoghe. He turned and headed towards his massive oaken book case and pulled on the ruby tipped wand which in turn set in motion the mechanism opening a secret vault.

As the vault's door swung open, Nemo silkily addressed his 'guest' "For here and now, my dear lady, I shall reveal to you my latest invention ... the Q-d...."

Nemo did not finish this sentence. Instead he spun on his heel and with his fists to his hips and his lips pursed, called (through the ship's interphonic device) to his soon-to-be hapless first mate "Mr. Rubel, where - is - the - Q-De - vice!!!"

Mr. Rubel appeared promptly and stutteringly replied "Sir, ah, Captain, you see .. do you recall uh ... Dr. Beamish-Sykes-Norrie-Hargison explained to me that the Q-Device needed cleaning and that since were about to start some shore leave she would pop into the nearest shop and have it looked after."

"You blithering idiot! You fell for the fourth oldest ruse in the book - the old "that device needs cleaning, let me have it and I'll take care of it at the village shop" confidence scheme" Nemo interrupted.

"You mean she nicked it sir? She seemed quite trustworthy sir and she's a scientist after all" Rubel replied.

Nemo buried his face in his hands but quickly gathered himself . He turned to Lady Lyme Weoghe and smiled "My Lady, I'm afraid I shall have to introduce you to the Orinoco at a later time. Mr. Rubel, set course for England, perhaps I shall be able to settle my score with old Turnip and his son after I deal with the Doctor.

Poetic Trifles, or Milady's Meandering Mind

A Pair of Haiku - on the occasion of the Sumptuous Feast


Fiendish sea Captain
and sycophant Mud Skipper.
Charming companions.



Monologuing on
World domination again.
How long 'til dessert?




A Pirate Limerick

'Board Blue Side of American
The pirates non-barbarian
Sail all seven seas
Saying "Thank-you" & "Please"
From Michigan & back there again