So the journey to the Katmandu film fest was the thing that epic poems are comprised of (or was it bad porn films?). Few people think about how you get to Katmandu but there in lies the curse of the trip. Our path took us there via Bangkok.

A one-night layover in Bangkok has killed weaker men and it did us no good that is for sure. There was no black tar heroin or under aged woman involved. No nude midget wrestling or bestiality was witnessed. All these things were nearly thrust upon us but only our moral fiber saved us.

Thank god Ray brought his bible with him because Satan is running wild in Bancock (and Block Buster Video). Some where between our sixth round of drinks and our last shred sanity we lost all control. Had Frank not lost all our money in vicious game of Pi Go poker with a pair of Siamese twin strippers we may not have made it out of that night alive.

The tails that could be spun are endless but some mention should be given to Indian film since that was the intent of going to this insane part of the world. There is bad film and then there is Indian film. Rambo III looks like high art compared to the debris that India cranks out. Interesting side note the Indian public loves the Rambo franchise and more than one of these demented souls demanded to know when Rambo IV would be out.

Ninety five percent of all Indian movies look just like the Sinbad movies. The plots to your average movie are stolen from your local mellow drama. But the truly most horrific part is they all have nightmarish musical segments. I shit you not; the billion people of India love a good musical.

So here are a few words to the wise, don’t get drunk with anyone who will blow you for ten bucks the results could be disastrous. Don’t gamble on any game not created in your own country. And lastly don’t ever watch India cinema even if the ticket is free.