weequizzie

Ok, so I like MGMT as much as the next cocksucker who’s willing to listen to almost ANYTHING with the hope that it could be good, or be remixed to make it good, but what the fuck is up with the ‘Kids’ video? My bestest Mac told me to check it out and I did, and I was like, what the fuck is up with this shit? Meaningless poo. What a waste – my ipod addled looking-out-the-window-of-the-bus mind conjured up genius for this tune video-wise. What a total shitting shame that they signed off on this turd.

For this reason, and this reason alone, he deserves to never win again. I’m surprised he’s not wearing a monocle and carrying a briefcase with his Robinsons inside. Dude, sort it the fuck out.

Hey, if you ever feel like you want some delicious crab tempura, a douchebag maître d’ and cunts to serve you at the bar then head to the Great Eastern Dining Room.

If you’re really lucky you’ll order a bottle of the house white at the bar, get charged incorrectly (according to the wine list you order from), ask for a refund and be told by the cokedcockfaced bar manager (I think he was – he looked like he was REALLY important and could count money) you’re ‘lucky’ to be getting such nice wine at that price. Erm, you’re lucky you get to be so thick. If you’re really, really super lucky the incredibly dumb bar woman will throw your voided transaction receipt at you after you ask for your copy because she’s a sterling douche that excels in the service industry. Aww guys, you’re the ones who are lucky. Lucky that your lives are so fulfilled working in such a magnificent establishment. Lucky that you are so good at your jobs. Lucky that the world is so huge, and you are so tiny and insignificant that your failures won’t resonate too hard, and if I want to find some cunty service then thank the sweet lord I know exactly where to go.

Remember friends, head to Great Eastern Dining Cunts for abuse and the best bad service ever.

Time Out say, ‘what’s not to like about a place that serves beautifully presented pan-Asian food in comfortable, cool surroundings’? Er, I’ll tell you – the cunts serving at the bar.

People, I implore you to ditch your Converse. Throw them high into the sky and pray they don’t sully the eyes of others by resting on power lines or trees, defiling the skyline. Pray. Pray that some kind angel lifts them up and disposes of them quickly and silently. Converse are the kicks of the bored, the tired, the not-connected-to-your-feet-and-where-they-might-take-you. They are unthinking, noncommittal, unassuming and ready for dead. Wake up. Embrace life. Give your feet hope. Shit, they’re not even kicks. They’re half way between Clarks and what you granny wore when her arches went. Deliver us all from this pain. Deliver us.

I apologise to the Converse owners – it’s a personal thing. Forgive me.

I’m angry. That’s it. I’m angry and I’m sure I’m angry for some really good reasons but I can’t summon up what they are. I want to smash things and break faces with staplers but I won’t.

I looked up angry in google images and found this:

I’m slightly more angry but not Spanish.

Why would you buy a pair of shoes and not remove the price sticker from the sole? Why do it? Are you that dumb and mean and slatternly? Do you not care about your shoes? Do you want the world to see you got them in the sale for £45? (You shouldn’t have paid that much.) Do you have problems peeling the label off? I know it’s hard but just do it. Bring the shoes/boots/monstrosities to me and I’ll do it. Spend the time peeling off the label before you walk it so deep into the sole that you’ll never get it off and the label is all mucky and it looks even worse than it did before when you could have taken it off with more ease.

Remove the label. It’s not hard. Don’t be so weak willed and poo-filled that you can’t take the label off. Don’t make me watch you walk ahead with the glare of your half-peeled-off label slicing my eye like a big, old blunt knife that your granny still has in a kitchen drawer for opening letters that you never send her.

REMOVE THE LABEL. Please. I want you to care about the stuff that you can’t see but that other people can.