España
Hola!
Here I am, sweating into my seat, in an internet cafe sans air-conditioning, realising that - as fucked as my existence is - things could be a whole lot worse.
Being here in spain has made me realise something. As a general species - and a particularly sub-human species at that - young Brits holidaying in Spain are a large coven of cunts! We drink far too much, we make little effort to mix with the locals, we know the price of everything but appreciate the value of nothing - especially when those values involve the unceasing race to get pissed as quickly as possible.
When I go abroad I know I drink like a fucking goldfish swimming in a liquid slurry of pure alcohol but... I like to try and mix with the locals. I eat in the local restaurants, drink in the local bars (and pay less than the stupid shrieking motherfuckers on the sea-front) and attempt to converse (pitifully, I might add) in the local tongue. But at least I make the effort!
The other evening, Fweng Ebola and I went for a stroll along the seafront. However, we were not out just for the sea air and the balmy night. No: we were looking to pull. The reek of desperation was emanating from our pores like a particularly powerful pheromone. In fact, if John Merrick (aka The Elephant Man) had been in possession of breasts and a vagina I think I think I´d have been tempted to say, "Grab yer coat, EM, ya´ve pulled!". But as we walked soberly along the seafront we were presented with a vision of hell almost Dante-esque in its increasing levels of horror. Each bar we passed looked ever more hideous: drug-dealers offering a lung-busting concoction of crushed glass and polo mint masquerading as cocaine; shrieking, staggering Brits fuck-shuffling their way to the nearest discoteca; bar after overpriced bar of places offering ten-year-old chart hits for a six pound (nine euro) glass of gin and tonic. And then came London Underground, Tramps and Heaven´s Gate. The lowest levels of Dante´s Hell can´t even compare with these places when they are spilling their lobster coloured customers out onto the street. Swarms of cackling, bellowing, swaggering, staggering, fucktarded guirris fuck-shuffle around the streets in an aimless search for fried flesh and carbs... or a fight - as Fweng Ebola very nearly found to his cost!
I looked around at FE, whose face was a mask of grim determination mixed with horror, and said, "Fuck this place. It´s shite. Let´s go!". For a second I could see him hesitate, possibly wondering if this place was really that bad. Then he saw something that made him change his thinking: before us was a fat British girl on her knees, fat arse in the air - showing her whale-tail off to the world - as she dry-heaved onto the vomit spattered floor in front of her friends.
Fweng looked at the scene in front of us and then at me and said, "Yeah. Fuck it, let´s go!"
Which is why we´re going back tonight. Viagra-ed, pissed and insensible.
We should fit in perfectly!
Here I am, sweating into my seat, in an internet cafe sans air-conditioning, realising that - as fucked as my existence is - things could be a whole lot worse.
Being here in spain has made me realise something. As a general species - and a particularly sub-human species at that - young Brits holidaying in Spain are a large coven of cunts! We drink far too much, we make little effort to mix with the locals, we know the price of everything but appreciate the value of nothing - especially when those values involve the unceasing race to get pissed as quickly as possible.
When I go abroad I know I drink like a fucking goldfish swimming in a liquid slurry of pure alcohol but... I like to try and mix with the locals. I eat in the local restaurants, drink in the local bars (and pay less than the stupid shrieking motherfuckers on the sea-front) and attempt to converse (pitifully, I might add) in the local tongue. But at least I make the effort!
The other evening, Fweng Ebola and I went for a stroll along the seafront. However, we were not out just for the sea air and the balmy night. No: we were looking to pull. The reek of desperation was emanating from our pores like a particularly powerful pheromone. In fact, if John Merrick (aka The Elephant Man) had been in possession of breasts and a vagina I think I think I´d have been tempted to say, "Grab yer coat, EM, ya´ve pulled!". But as we walked soberly along the seafront we were presented with a vision of hell almost Dante-esque in its increasing levels of horror. Each bar we passed looked ever more hideous: drug-dealers offering a lung-busting concoction of crushed glass and polo mint masquerading as cocaine; shrieking, staggering Brits fuck-shuffling their way to the nearest discoteca; bar after overpriced bar of places offering ten-year-old chart hits for a six pound (nine euro) glass of gin and tonic. And then came London Underground, Tramps and Heaven´s Gate. The lowest levels of Dante´s Hell can´t even compare with these places when they are spilling their lobster coloured customers out onto the street. Swarms of cackling, bellowing, swaggering, staggering, fucktarded guirris fuck-shuffle around the streets in an aimless search for fried flesh and carbs... or a fight - as Fweng Ebola very nearly found to his cost!
I looked around at FE, whose face was a mask of grim determination mixed with horror, and said, "Fuck this place. It´s shite. Let´s go!". For a second I could see him hesitate, possibly wondering if this place was really that bad. Then he saw something that made him change his thinking: before us was a fat British girl on her knees, fat arse in the air - showing her whale-tail off to the world - as she dry-heaved onto the vomit spattered floor in front of her friends.
Fweng looked at the scene in front of us and then at me and said, "Yeah. Fuck it, let´s go!"
Which is why we´re going back tonight. Viagra-ed, pissed and insensible.
We should fit in perfectly!
4 Comments:
Or you could have said...
Having a great time, wish you were here. ;)
Seriously. You both need to get laid. And F needs to stop almost getting in fights. Come to Canada and I'll hook you up. Both of you.
Hola LFM,
I did at least get a decent snog out of the holiday. Oh, and the chance to vomit on my trainers.
We might just hold you to the Canada thing, so be warned!!!
This post sums up my aversion to holidaying in Spain!
hello good reading
Post a Comment
<< Home