The Horror

The Horror

So according to the Ministry of Information, if you want to get laid tonight, and every other night, the UK is the place to be. The official press release states officially that the country is swarming with drunk teenage girls. I’m not making this stuff up.

But I guess it all comes down to standards. The place is an island, so unfortunately there isn’t going to be much variation in the gene pool. So what you’re going to be faced with when you get there is a bunch of inbred illiterates with bad teeth and the conversational aptitude of retarded parrots. And that’s before they start drinking. Not that you’re gonna notice too much on account of the fact that by the end of the night you’ll be just as wasted as they are.

A word of warning before you book your flights, however. Manolo was there a couple of weeks ago. I asked him what it was like when he came back. He couldn’t answer. It looked as though his soul had been sucked out of his eye sockets. He collapsed onto the ground right there in front of me, curled up into a ball, and started sobbing. He didn’t stop for five hours. The horror. The horror. That’s all he kept saying. I told him he should have gone to Miami instead HATM HATM HATM!

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