Robert Burns’ birthday

Hello,

Today is Robert Burns’ birthday and I don’t give a FUCK.

Be seeing you

I feel like the ghost of a total stranger

Villains Vault but recent weeks have been really hectic but anyway I’ve got a new Skpe 
account and you can reach me there pretty much often but don’t expect
to see any major update on this website cause it’s too demanding and
I’ve got a life outside internet even if I’m always busy and now I’m
off going to see Super Size Me and a comedy called “World Shut your Mouth” .

So fuck off and move along, ’cause I’m pissed off badly that I’ve missed Little Britain on the tele-fucking-vision.

Can’t believe I’m still here, need a holiday in Europe like this one from Rules of Attraction :

Took a charter flight on a DC-10 to London, landed at Heathrow, took a
cab to the city center. Don’t let people lie to you, hostels are for
the ugly. I’m staying at Home House, the most beautiful hotel. Called a
friend from school who was selling hash, but she wasn’t in. Met a
couple of Brits who take me to of all places, Camden Street. I flirt a
bit at the Virgin Megastore, buy some CDs, then follow some girls with
pink hair. I wandered around trying to get laid until it started to
rain, then went back to Home House. “Ministry of Sound” is dead, so I
go to “Rem Forum,” but it’s “Gay Night.” I find one hetero girl and we
dry-hump on the dance floor. We cab it back to Home House, I strip her
clothes off suck her toes and we fuck. Hung out for four or five days,
met the world’s biggest DJ, Paul Oakenfold. Kept missing the Changing
of the Guards. Wrote my mom a postcard I never sent, bought speed from
an Italian junkie trying to sell me a stolen bike. Smoked a lot of hash
that had too much tobacco in it. Saw the Tate. Saw Big Ben. Ate a lot
of weird English food. It rained a lot. It was expensive and I’m
jonesing – split for Amsterdam. The Dutch all know English so I didn’t
have to speak Dutch, which was a relief. I cruise the red light
district, visit a sex show, visit a sex museum, smoke a lot of hash. I
meet a Dutch TV actress and we drink absinthe at a bar called
“Absinthe.” The museums were cool. Lots of Van Goghs and the Vermeers
were intense. Wandered around, bought a lot of pastries, ate some
intense waffles. Bought some coke and I cruised the red light district
I found some blonde with big tits that reminds me of Lara. I gave her
100 guilders. In the end, she pulls me out, I come between her tits
even though I’m wearing a rubber. We made small talk about AIDS, her
Moroccan pimp and herself. I wake to the sound of a wino singing. It’s
8:00 a.m. and hot as blazes. I pretend to ice-skate around Central
Station. Trade songs with a Kiwi girl, then split for Paris Wandered
the Champs-???lysÈes, climbed the Eiffel Tower for only seven francs –
the ticket machine was broken. Got the hang of the MÈtro, took it
everywhere. Ford model party, hooked up with a model named Karina. She
chugs my cock at the Marriot, which is good. Played billiards, went
shopping I think she gave me mono. Drove a Ferrari that belonged to the
Saudi royal family. Made out with a Dutch model in front of the Louvre.
Saw the Arc de Triomphe – almost became road kill. Oakie invites me to
Dublin, I catch an Aer Lingus flight, stay at the Morrison – Dublin
rocks like you can’t imagine. Oakenfold lets me spin some discs with
him. Irish girls are small as leprechauns. I swap hickeys with a drunk
woman after groping my abs and calling me “Mr. LA.” She strips for me
in the bathroom of the club. Sneak into the Guinness factory and steal
some stout so good my dick goes hard. I fly to Barcelona which is a
bust. Too many fat American students, too many lame meat markets . I
dropped acid at the Sagrada Familia, which was a trip, to say the
least. Cruise up the coast to Museo Gala Dali, but had no more acid,
which sucked. Some girl from Canada calls me on my cell, so I let her
listen to the church bells. Canta Cruz is beautiful but there are no
girls there, just old hippies. So I went to Switzerland where,
ironically, I couldn’t find anyone with the time. Took Glacier Express
to Schilthorn which is beautiful in a way I can’t describe. EuroPass
into Italy, ended up in Venice, met a hot girl who looks like Rachael
Leigh Cook, and speaks better English than I do. She’s living for a
year on only $5.00 a day. We gondola around, buy hash. She thinks I’m a
capitalist – my room costs more for one night than her entire trip. She
doesn’t mind much when I pay the bills. I ditch her and hook up with a
couple who obviously want a threesome. Much tension, but the doofus
offers to drive me to Rome, an offer I jump at. Traffic’s bad, we’re
stopped for hours. The wife’s a freak. The guy wigs out on me. It’s
like a Polanski film. We stop in Florence, where I see some big dome. A
bomb
goes off I lose the weird couple, which is probably for the best. Ended
up in Rome, which is big and hot and dirty. Just like LA, but with
ruins. I went to the Vatican, which is ridiculously opulent. Stood for
two hours to get into the Sistine Chapel, which now cleaned, looks
fake. I meet two underage Italian girls who I try to talk into fucking
each other while I jack off onto them. Bored, I buy them some ice cream
instead. My hotel has a gym, so I work out. I bump into some guy from
Camden who says he knows me, but I’m sure that he’s a fag, so I lose
him. I try to fart and instead shit my pants. In my room I masturbate
and have a pain in my groin. I dream about a beautiful girl, half in
water, stretching her lean body. She asks me if I like it. I tell her
she can clean fish with it. I don’t know what it means, but I wake
well-rested, masturbate in the shower, and check out. Make my way back
to London, hang out in Piccadilly Circus. Swap shirts with some
upper-crusty Cambridge chick. Hers was an Agnes B.; mine, it cost me my
Chanel. She acts stuffy and prudish, but is really wild underneath. She
barely looks at my abs, though she wants to. The next day I drop acid
and get lost in the subway for a full day and can’t find my way out. I
meet a cute girl that lets me jack off onto her as long as no come gets
onto her Paul Smith coat. We get stoned while listening to Michael
Jackson records. The next morning, I wake up talking to myself. I had a
big bump on my head from flailing in my sleep. I get my stuff and
barely make my plane back to the United States. I no longer know who I
am and I feel like the ghost of a total stranger. So then I ended up
back here.

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