Super Hip Vice Magazine Blog
Fuck you that’s my name. Read between the lines and it’s there.
I popped into a trendy cafe that sells niche corn flakes from brands that I have never heard of. This is the kind of sugar rich E laden monstrosity that I need to course through my veins. In this uber cool shit hole you are able to sit next to dead people watching them mindlessly shit-down-their-gullets with this finely malnutritious meal.
What’s the name of the place? I am not going to tell you because that would be me making you cooler than you are and we wouldn’t that.
After scoffing this trendy poverty cuisine my stomach feels like it has been fingered by special branch and my stools will no doubt be less pipe laden but more like a broken M&M machine plopping out multi coloured branded pebbles.
Late afternoon breakfast done I must find the latest, greatest place nobody has heard of. Inconveniently I went into a crack den thinking it was a Nuveau Riche coffee shop. It was only when I realised that an overdose victim was uncontrollably shining my shoes with his jagged head and I vacated the premises quick sharpish.
I am the self proclaimed mega twat with trousers short enough that people can see my socks. It’s enough to arouse the midget literati.
Those who pretend to read books with all encapsulating titles that Tolstoy would describe as top-10-books-to-read-while-taking-a-shit are dead to me. Such shallow behaviour. Obviously this town used to be cool but nowadays the cool places are hidden in spaces that even Anne Frank would turn her nose up at.
My next adventure awaits.