I'm driving out to the Delaware shore at the beginning of July, to spend a week enjoying the freeflowing beer, good seafood, July 4th fireworks, and the affections of adventurous college girls. Then I'll probably dive head first off a pier, swim in an ENE direction, dodging the wayward jellyfish and fighting the vicious southbound current. My plan is to eventually be frozen in an iceblock floating in the frigid North Atlantic, and be rescued by fishermen somewhere off the coast of Scotland. After systematically knocking them out cold with a calculated wallop from a wriggling haddock, I will commandeer the ship and port in Cuxhaven. From there, it will be a torturous march without aid of map or compass through the unforgiving plains of Schleswig-Holstein, and my journey will end on the fields of Wacken, bloody, beaten, and naked, just in time to see Onkel Tom take his final drunken bow.