Go To Prague If You Enjoy Things That You Probably Shouldn’t

Great news: as of last month I am back in employment. That means after three months of travelling the world, exploring vast regions and cultures, facing all my ridiculous fears by scuba diving in the Great Barrier Reef, paragliding off a very big hill and pooing in a public toilet, discovering myself through some of the best times of my life as well as the very dark time, I have now returned to my old place of work. Only I’m in a worse position with longer hours and shittier pay. So hooray for me.

A month or so ago, my boyf and I took a little holiday to Prague. It was nice and I would recommend it to anyone; except the easily offended and people who don’t enjoy drinking beer, astronomical clocks, sadomasochistic sex, extreme pain and more beer.

My initial reaction was that Prague has the cleanest, most civilised sex shops I’ve ever been in. There’s no fucking about in these sex shops. No one goes in there to guffaw at a butt plug. You get the feeling it’s not some dirty little secret to the Czechs – they practically skip through the entrance and grab a trolley as the shop bell gaily tinkles as if to say “it’s 10am and I’m ready for something in my arse!!”

The trolley thing took me by surprise. Erotic City is obviously based on the Supermarket Sweep era of shop design. It’s clean and neat and all the shop assistants still have mullets. There are even inflatables you can pick up along the way. Unfortunately, though, shopper are not encouraged to run through the isles, following sexual riddles and filling their trolley with as many nipple clamps as possible in a minute to win a cash prize or a top-of-the-range cassette player.

Erotic City sounds daunting. A whole city of erotica? I mean, I’m as sexual as the next sexual person, you know. I’ve watched Eurotrash. I’ve read most of Fanny Hill. I’ve drank through a willy straw at a hen party. Yet not even I could handle a whole city of erotica. Jeez Prague, chill your tits. Can’t we just have an Erotic Village? Erotic Hamlet even?

There are many beautiful things to look at in Prague. There’s that astronomical clock and stuff. But there are much more fucked up things to go and look at, and that’s way more fun. Upon visiting the sex machine museum and the medieval torture museum, I was unsure whether I had in fact just made a U-turn and walked straight back into the same building. It’s kind of terrifying how similar they are. Or exciting, depending on how messed up you like your bedroom activities to be. I recommend both if you enjoy feeling uncomfortable around total strangers.

The sex museum features a tiny erotic cinema where you can go and find out what it feels like to be a 1920s Pee-Wee Herman.  Although not always clear what was happening, I decided that this pornography was probably Prohibition Era porn. It felt like the couple in question had spent all night at a speak-easy and returned to her boudoir for a bit of fun, but hadn’t expected how much the moonshine was to affect their motor skills. It was awkward; there was a lot of falling over, a lot of nonsensical experimentation, and a lot of bored expressions. But I had to hand it to them, it was realistic.

The Medieval Torture museum presented to us an equal amount of humiliation, leather and boobs as the Sex Museum except that, worryingly, there were far more men failing to cover their awkward boners in the torture museum.

One device made me feel something that I imagine is the female equivalent of a man watching another man getting kicked in the testicles. It’s called the Judas Cradle, and it looks like this:


The unfortunate culprit was placed upon the wooden prism and then weights would be attached to their feet until…  gross stuff happened. Another medieval favourite was the Two-Man Saw…

medieval saw

… where the accused would be hung upside down by their ankles as two people would take a gigantic saw and merrily cut the poor sod in half as a nice Sunday bonding activity.

Shit the bed, these guys must have done something pretty messed up the get themselves sliced down the middle by these two dapper young gentlemen, right? RIGHT?

‘Fraid not, compadre. A homeless man was given death by sawing because he PREDICTED A STORM. A woman was impaled on the Judas Cradle because she was a QUARRELSOME GOSSIP and MIGHT have been a witch.


Just for ease, I have compiled a list of people that, if we were to exist under Medieval ruling, would most certainly be killed:

1. Everyone.

Seriously, everybody would be done for. Take me, for example. I bloody love a good gossip. I would have been dead aaaaaages ago. And I’d be taking every single writer of Heat Magazine down with me. You couldn’t swing a gossip mag without being hunted down and impaled until dead. For example, other sinners include, but are not limited to:

Weathermen: DEAD for predicting storms

The inventor of those microwavable lavender neck pillows: DEAD for witchcraft

All of the Loose Women: DEAD for being quarrelsome old women and gossips

Steve Jobs: DEAD for wizardry

Your mum: DEAD for saying it might rain later

Your grandad: DEAD for saying on the day before your birthday “I think someone’s going to get a birthday present tomorrow!” and therefore PREDICTING THE FUTURE

Pharmacists: DEAD for selling you Lemsips and thus WITCHCRAFT and WIZADRY

It is slightly baffling that no one is looking at the inventor of the Judas Cradle and questioning that SOB. Why wasn’t anyone looking at the contraption and saying “so you have made a stool… that bad people sit on… and then it goes straight up there… into their nether-regions… until it impales them and they die? Right, right. I see where you’re coming from, Geoff, but… don’t you think that’s a little weird bro? Really? Not cool, man. I’m out.” What kind of fucked up Dragon’s Den was this guy a part of that, instead of throwing him in prison where he belongs, celebrates his weird contraption. And what was the selling point for the two-man saw, I wonder? I guess nothing says friendship and teamwork like looking into the eyes of your bestest broseph as the blood of a Gossiper smatters across your grinning lovey-dovey faces.

And so concludes our trip to Prague. If you require any further information on what Prague has to offer, why don’t you just go there yourself, you uncultured fucks.