A TALE OF ACCESSIBILITY...

(a somewhat confusing kick-in in the on going but not finished part 1 and 2 of "To be continued". This posting should clear up some confusions, but to keep the confusion (an excellent mean of power) at hand this is part 3 in "To Be continued", however not to be associated with parts 1 and 2. Alas, an independent account)

While a good part of under-Denmark sits paralized watching the christening of the little prince, only emphasizing the inescapable structure of a genuine classsociety (the further away the stars the better the high...), I will try to account for one of my life more unfortunate choices.
Yesterday I had to make it to Copenhagen in my born-again Volvo: I had been looking forward to this little outing. Quizmaster Puttes birthday party, a visit to my favourite blogger Lennard, a sleepover and long drinks at Jakobs place and so on.

To keep the expenses down as I in my 42nd year still am so poor I deserve to die, I had through the innovation of www.gomore.dk hooked up with a cyber-hitchhiker from Aarhus, who in this account, due to his heavy dating pattern, will remain not-mentioned-by-name more than X.
The weatherforecast was troublesome, no, the weather was troublesome, the weatherforecast was merely an account of trouble, but I set out becuase the grey thaw had set in and I had a feeling that the roads would be run dry due to heavy salting and rain. An so it was. The driving was no problem, I made it to Aarhus in time to pick up X.

We greeted, bought refreshment for the ride, turned on the radio, only to hear the the proud symbol of togetherness, the main artery of Denmark, Storebæltsbroen (http://www.highways.dk/danmark/broer/images/bro_storebaelt_snestorm_375x475.jpg), had been closed because of thee before mentioned severe weatherconditions. However, said the news, the bridged would open again at 6pm, and maybe even before. It was now 3pm. We decided to race by the quarry to see if we could get on the ferry: We could only chance-it, but there was no ferry untill 4.30pm, so we decided to make it for the bridge.
The weather was bad, but the fierce: A thick rain made it hard to distiguish wether it was winter or summer. X was talkative, a nice guy, wellkept and young, fit and tatooed, 24. A testorone bomb, who in a matter of minutes turd the convervastion to the finer art of scoring. He was going to Cph to meet a chick he had been chatting for 6 months on-line and now it was time for showdown. His accounts of netdating was stunning, I was so distanced, so old, uptight. The amount of pussy, the amount of sms`s he recieved was out of this world: the astonishing network of horny sweet woman made the conversation in the car very free.
Passing Lillebæltsbroen, we called up the trafficinformation who informed that the bridge now would stay closed untill 8pm. We decided to make a stopover in Odense to eat, and we did, my concerns for a long night on the raod though grew intensively and the regrets of not having stayed behind, waitíng for the ferry.
We ate an average slize of pizza. X was continously on his cellphone with dates and friends. Then, downing the last bite of my pizza X handed his cellphone over to me and said: "You gotta see this!" More ottershit, I thought? A 12 second videoclip of a 19 year-old miss from somewhere in Jylland, dildoing herself, and to be blunt, dildoing herself and being good at it. What could I say? Then some more pix of tits from other parts of the country, and finally a picture of the date that awaited him in Copenhagen, 26 year old Pia, dressed in a latex nurse uniform. The birthdayparty grew pale.
At 7.15 we left Odense and set out for the bridge, spirits high. A 20 min run, and IT happened. We hit the Q, didnt make the timely thoughtfull exit from the freeway and got stock in the far left lane, next to a bussfull of finish students and a big ass truck, just as the newsflash said: the opening of the bridge had been prosponed to 22 maybe even midnight. Somehow, it seemed the first to hours passed quickly. We talked, called friends, informed of our situation. X speeded up to a nearby gasstation and brought back shitty burgers and overboiled coffe, chocolate, cokes, water, a few beers and cigarettes. 20pm became 22pm, where we were informed that the opening weas prosponed to midnight. Huge icepieces - up to 200 kilo - had formed on the cables holding the suspensionbridge, and they - the ice - was falling with serious risk obviously. So whether or not the bridge could be opened, was not an issue.
Time was at a standstill. Every perspective of cunt and getting laid, even thinking about it, time couldnt work for us. We were as such stifffrozen and nonexistenst, out of context. The nagging and the complaiing started almost simoultaneously. Not only with X and me. In the Q. People were getting out of their cars, their trucks, the busses, depeches to and from the gasstation and McD. Random conversation with random people in the q of the situation. German, finish, turks, swedes, brititsh in a rare bond of anger. Ach die dumme daene.
Then 30 minutes after midnight the Q suddenly moved, the relief! The relief had never been more shortlived. We moved 600 feet and then stopped, and then nothing for another fucking hour. X was getting pale, a serious unrest, he was freezing, underdressed. I wondered seriously if we were safe, there was no information, the absence of police or nationalguard members puzzled me. I knew that about a mile up the Q was an exit that could take us off the freeway and head back for Aarhus. We had long given up on making it to Copenhagen. In the distance I could see a blue flickering light. I had to do something, we were on the 7th hour and desperate, and a few cars past us in the emergencylane. So I got out of the car and walked the mile up to the policecar where a overdressed single cop sat and had coffee, and the only thing he could inform me was that it was ok if I could mengle the cars blocking my access to the emergencylane away. I ran - no skated - back to the car, pushed and shuffled three cars out of the way, and we then squeezed through, made it to the emergencylane, the passage under the freeway. We turned around and headed back for Aarhus. It was 130am. The mere sense of moving after seven ours in the Q was exillarting. The fuck up, the waste of time almost forgotten, the energy with which we rationalized our unfortunate choice was exuberant and effective. We had done nothing wrong, we were at the mercy of nature, we were only humans with an immense sexdrive, modern cribbles in a risc-society.
At 4am I unloaded X at his apartment in Aarhus, at 430 I almost fell asleep driving, reached out the the last sugary chocolatebar who boosted me for the remains of the drive. At 5am I unlocked the door to my apartment in Viborg, my puls racing.

And the prince has a name.