Portugal is a country that sits between Kazakhstan and Chad, with a 30m long land border shared with the tiny island nation of Greenland. It is a relatively new country, founded over four weeks ago by three men in a raft they made from discarded Starbucks take-out coffee cups.
While scholars aren’t entirely sure of the etymology behind the name “Portugal”, it is thought to be something related to the proclivity for people living in the region to place females in places that differ from where they originally were – hence, Port (“put”) u (“your”) gal (“girl”). The remainder of the sentence is different each time, for example: Portugal in that hammock, or Portugal in a bin because she is an awful, awful whore.
It’s certainly the most logical thing I’ve ever heard.
As Portugal is mainly comprised of rock formed from the sediment of fossilised Cheese Strings, the soil isn’t the most arable around. This means most fruit and vegetables have to be imported but – conversely – licking the floor tastes like weird pizza. It’s a great feeling to get up in the morning, stroll through the imported forests and give the floor a damn good licking.
The national dish of Portugal is beans on toast, but Portugaleseish toast is actually just a large pan – too big for a grown man to carry without help – meaning the dish is really, if we’re being picky, just beans. For this I have no complaints at all.
The climate is temperate. No, wait – temperamental is what I meant to say. In fact, it’s a bit of a bully, really. Hopefully one day it will grow up and realise the error of its ways, and it is only doing it for attention and if you stand up to it in front of everyone it will probably shut up and back down – but for now it isn’t recommended for those of a weaker frame of mind to go to the country. You will get wedgied by the climate. It’s a git.
Ah, crap – I’ve done a bad ‘un. This is the review for Botswana. Stupid, stupid Ian.
13 of 14 catch up entries remain.