Thomas Cap de ville
I spent three weeks in Southern Europe this summer. I won’t tell you which country cause some whiny bastard surley would be offended and crash my (non existing) car. Anyway. Three weeks of vacation. In fact it was work. But still I had a great illusion of numberless hotties and rum and coke by the sea. And there I was. In the paradise of nature. But everyone looked like shit. And the few who didn’t were anyhow dressed like hippies from 92.
At first I got really pissed of. I wanted to send them all into one of the bad Style Doctor programs on Channel 3. Obviously I couldn’t (and still can’t) handle ugly people. I take them for retards. All kind of political correctness was unexisting and my unsatisfactioned self was in a war with all those happy scumbags.
After one week though, I found out uglyness was the shit. I’ve never been as focused in my whole life as I was during those three weeks. Suddenly I was hatching ideas like an overloaded jukebox and my brain was an everlasting orgasm of creativity. And so on, I gave the conspiratorial world of beauty my crooked Fuck You finger and started my life as a happy ever after, badlooking geek. Awesome.
And now. Back in Stockholm. I can’t even go out. Everyone is too fuckable. When I was a kid I learned that it’s not okey to eat candy before the dinner. And here I am, 24 years old in a world were you rather eat pussy instead of having dinner at all. Great. This life killing me. I can’t concentrate and I really can’t get anything done. I’m all occupied with dirty thoughts and unchristian beahvior. My creativity is dead. I’ve become a mixture of Hugh Hefner and Charlie Sheen. Trying to do something meaningful but in the end it’s all about bitches, bling and fancy cars. Revolutionary. Not.
I think I have to move to Germany. I need some pure uglyness and a view of the world that isn’t 50 cents.
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