The Horrors of Moving to London Part II

If you're interested, I just found part of another blog I put up on MySpace while living in London. I'm guessing this one probably went up around late August 2008:

London Fog: A Blessing in Disguise
 

I’ve been here just over two months, and I simply can’t adjust to how ugly everyone is. And I don’t mean the people have bad haircuts or that they could stand to lose 5 pounds.  Those would be major upgrades.

 

Someone asked me if there was a way to sum up the look of the average Londoner. It isn’t easy, but try to envision how Pinocchio would look if Geppetto had developed a crippling loss of confidence halfway through the carving. I’ll give you a hint; lopsided eyesockets. There are enough misaligned eyes in this town to make the periscope obsolete. Given my experience with UK handiwork, maybe these errant eyeballs actually meet the UK standard for “level.” Or perhaps each person is doing a cheekbone tribute to the scales of justice. Don’t ask me, I’m not from here.

London is also filled to the rim with bent genders. Notice I didn’t say gender bending. I’m not talking about drag queens. I’m talking about the fearsome bridge between male and female. You can’t cross the street in Mary Poppins’ hood without passing some pitiably hideous blob of androgyny. There’s one monstrosity in particular that keeps surfacing in my neighborhood. She/he is a hulking, crimson faced, blondish being with a thick, yogurty torso and a mammoth lower jaw. I call it Jabba the Question Mark. I’ve given up asking people like this their name. Now I just open with, “Plant, animal, or mineral?”

Picture every memorable freak you’ve ever seen, every shard of human wreckage that set your teeth on edge. Well, London is an assembly-line of those ghastly outliers. Put it this way, I am used to seeing varicose veins on legs. I am not used to seeing them on faces.

 

Living in London is ruining my masturbation routine. Typically, I don’t masturbate to celebrities or chicks I know. My standard MO is to jerk off to random women I see on the street. Trouble is, the women in London are so ugly I can’t find any strangers to wank it to. My self-pollution routine has been totally paralyzed. Now I find myself mentally backtracking to random broads I used to jerk off to when I was in New York. “Shit, who was that chick I passed in the elevator that one time at Macy’s?” And for some reason, I’m drawing a blank. I picked a hell of a time to contract Pervert Alzheimer’s.