More Things I Hate And A Few Things I Don’t

Self portrait by Darren Cullen

As I’ve previously mentioned, irrationally hating things is one of my greatest pleasures in life. It just makes me feel good about myself. I can’t explain it. However, I do like some stuff on occasion. Here’s a list of a few things I hate, and I few things I don’t.


HATE: People Who Say Fierce (And Mean It)

i.e. stupid fashion kids and presenters on low rate “style” television shows aimed at frumpy suburban mothers. These people make me feel physically ill. The only person who can get away with saying ‘fierce’ and mean it is Tyra Banks, and that’s only because she’s a drag queen, whom normal people rules don't apply to.

LOVE: Deaf Guys

So hot right now. The chicest accessory for fall. The only problem is I don’t know where to find them. Sleeping with a deaf guy has been on my To Do List for some time now. How can we make this happen people?! I didn’t learn the British sign language alphabet for nothing.

HATE: My Flatmate Hannah

Ugh she’s so annoying. Her stupid cats constantly piss all over my clothes and eat all of my food. This is because she’s never home to properly look after them. She’s always too busy off raving-out in random fields with her random raverdog friends who all have hair made of neon plastic and reflective cargo pants that make them look like eco-warriors from the future. Eww. I have no tolerance for people who are different from me.

LOVE: Cock

Simply could not live my life without it.

HATE: Flaccid Cock

A.K.A. the only variety of cock I don’t like. Thankfully I’m hot enough that I’ve never actually had to encounter one of these first hand, but I still hate the idea of them. The worst is when they have that weird excess foreskin hanging off the end like the limp head of a dead anteater.

LOVE: Gareth from The Office (UK)

I’m in love with him and his bowl cut makes me crazy and I want to put his skinny legs around my face and his emaciated chicken arms in my mouth. I even like the way he has those huge, dark bags under his eyes, that, paired with his ashen complexion, make him look like a skeleton dipped in wax.

HATE: Nazis

Seriously hate them. Although I do have to admit their style was fierce.

My Imaginary Boyfriend

Theo, Yasmin and Matthew... by Matthew Josephs

…is ammaaaaazzing! Seriously, you would totes LOVE him. His name is Hawke (how cute?!), and he’s from Iceland. Or maybe it’s Greenland… I can’t actually remember. Whichever one means he sort of looks like an Eskimo. His skin is milky white and his long hair is pitch black. And O-M-G his body is like sooo f-ing sexy. He’s super tall—about 6’3’’—and is so grossly thin that he basically looks like an elongated child. I mean, I don’t want to brag but the boy is practically perfect. Oh God, I think I’m in love.

But yeah, like I was saying, Hawke is like a total dreamboat.. He’s a DJ slash photographer (multitalented), and he also works occasionally as a location scout for Law and Order. (My fave crime drama!!!) But the best thing about Hawke is how amazing he is in bed. Seriously, it’s unreal. He just loves going down on me. I mean, so did my ex-boyfriend but it’s still fab to meet a guy with a staunch appreciation for you-know-what. Literally, he spends hours down there. And he’s really spontaneous too, which totes turns me on. Like, just the other day we were shopping in Top Shop (he has a great sense of style—skinny jeans, black leather jacket, Rolling Stones T-shit, etc) and out of nowhere he dragged me behind a rack of crop-tops and just shoved his hand up my skirt. I felt just like Reece Witherspoon in that movie where she gets finger-banged by Freddy Prince Jr or Mark Wahlberg of whoever. Like, seriously, whoa.

But don’t get me wrong—our relationship is based on far more than just sex. Hawke and I connect on a way deeper level than that. For one, we both love chicken. I mean, it’s seriously both of our favorite food and we eat it together like every day. We also both share a deep admiration for the films of Rob Reiner. For real, the man is a genius of unfathomable depths (Hawke’s words, not mine). Just last night we spent hours lying in bed watching Sleepless in Seattle and making-out. Aww, life is just like so super fun, right?

Sigh. Hawke's perfection makes me wonder why I ever bothered with real boys to begin with, when it’s so clear that the world is far brighter within my own inner theatre of sexual make-believe.

Date Rape

Bunny by Matthew Stone

On Saturday night my housemates and I all sat at home, casually consuming date rape drugs and snorting lines of 2cb. This is what some might call temporary medication for our excessive and perpetual boredom. I offer this bit of information without comment and certainly without recommendation.

2cb is a vaguely new drug that I guess feels like a combination of ecstasy and acid. The date rape drug, more commonly known as Rohypnol, comes in the form of a small white pad. Submerge in water—consume at your own risk. That’s what the hand-written sticker on the package said, anyway. It gets you really fucked up but it tastes like shit—sort of like makeup remover mixed with bile. I guess it’s fun, I don’t know. I’m starting to think I use drugs more as a method of achieving a state of numbness, rather than some form of cognitive enlightenment. I’m constantly trying to escape myself. I feel dazed…

“This shit makes me so fucking horny,” breathes Simon. He’s so high. Simon has a really pretty girlfriend named Scarlet, but he gets with guys sometimes. I secretly want to watch him with another boy.

“I saw a guy get his legs ripped off yesterday,” says Amy. Her face looks really pale. I mean, it’s always pale but tonight it’s REALLY pale. She kind of looks dead, but in a good way. “He was on a motorcycle and he pulled out right in front of this truck and it just fucking cut him in half. There was blood everywhere, and he was lying there on the street in two fucking pieces. And no one did anything for what seemed liked forever. Everyone just stood there, frozen. It was weirdly… cinematic.”

For hours we’ve been taking pictures of ourselves on Macbook photobooth. Before this Matthew, Bunny and I were watching Cam4—our new favorite live webcam site. After watching user S_FUN refuse to get his cock out for nearly an hour, we settled on watching some fat gay guy shit all over himself in his kitchen. It was gross and we pretended we weren’t into it but none of us looked away.

“I think it’s impossible to have a conversation on ketamine,” says Hannah, delirious. “You can be talking to someone, and they can be talking to you, but there’s no real connection. It’s just two people speaking at each other.”

Simon: “What?”

Hannah: “…oh God… I can’t even remember.”

“I can see myself committing suicide one day,” says Bunny. He’s so thin sometimes I feel like I can see through him. I don’t know, maybe I’m just fucked. “I don’t really think killing myself would be that big of a deal…”

Taking drugs with people is a shortcut to intimacy. I can fall in love with someone when I’m high in seconds. Doused with narcotics I have a difficulty distinguishing between Mr. Right and Mr. Right In Front Of Me. But, like, keep that to yourself, yeah?

I've been awake for a curious amount of time. I feel scary, like I’ve just been shipped back from Vietnam. This house feels like a weird scary meth lab. Last night I had a nightmare about salad. I think I’m in love with Lady Gaga. I should probably clean my room. Did Simon just give me the stink eye? And so on...

Wet Dream

Photo Matt Irwin

I’ve accomplished one of my life goals: I finally had a wet dream. Praise… whoever.

For years I've been jealous of men for their ability to reach orgasm in their sleep. It just felt like yet another reason on the long list of reasons why men have it better than women. Ugh… to be the better sex. But now I too am part of the club, one of the gang. So, moving onto my next task: growing a cock.

My desire to have a wet dream began a couple of months ago when my friend Michelle called me ecstatic, ranting about how she’d experienced a recent string of nights in which she was awoken from sleep by orgasm. I’d never heard of a girl being able to cum mid-dream before, but this gave me hope for the future, and with this information I added WET DREAM to my list of life goals (which by the way is a very long list which includes walking in a runway fashion show at a mall, having sex with Jamie Bell in a restaurant bathroom, and figuring out what 'retroactive' means).

And what do you know—without even having to try, last night I accomplished my goal. As usual I awoke from a sexy dream right before I was about to climax. This time, however, rather than waking up annoyed and dissatisfied, my entire body went into spasm as the intense feeling of orgasm rushed through me. Super, right? Well… sort of. The only bummer was that the dream I was having didn’t involve me being pummeled but a hot celebrity crush, but rather was about a group of swamp children performing mutual masturbation. So that made me feel sort of weird. I mean the whole scene was seriously eerie—hundreds of kids in war paint and leafy headdresses jerking-off in unison. To each their own, I guess

But anyway, this whole wet dream thing got me thinking about life goals. I decided to ask some of my friends and squatmates what they want to accomplish before they die. You know, to try and get a glimpse into their demented psyches. This is what I found.


So guys, what’s one thing you want to do before you die?


Matthew Stone: To turn into light

Darren Cullen: To wank into a volcano… woops, I mean to wank into an animal’s eyes

Bunny Kinney: To eat at Dragon Castle, the fancy Chinese restaurant near my house

Matthew Josephs: To make a living doing something I love

Simon Milner: To memorize the Torah

Hannah Logic: To get a council flat in Islington

My mom: To figure out a goal

Dominic Jones: I’m really hungover. I can’t think of anything. Can you get out of my room?


Deep…

Kill Me Now

Pic Steve Bliss

I’m going to kill myself. The method: sleeping pills. It’s lame, I know. I wish I had the balls to kill myself in a way that was more epic or flashy or hip, like slitting my wrists whilst watching Clueless or jumping naked off the roof of my squat, but I’m just too much of a loser to go through with it. Yup, my death will be an anticlimactic death to end my anticlimactic life, and everyone will just keep on eating and sleeping and jerking-off and dying their hair and doing ketamine and I’ll be dead and no on will give a shit. Despair.

I spent Saturday afternoon clearing out all my possessions from my now ex-boyfriend Blaine’s apartment. The whole process was super depressing. The worst was when I mistook his having pity on me for us having a “moment,” at which point I lent into to kiss him, only to have him pull away in disgust. So embarrassing. I then made a similar attempt about an hour later but was greeted with the same reaction. Eventually I gave up all hope of maintaining any dignity and just started begging him to have sex with me. No avail. I think at one point I actually said, “Please, you won’t have to do anything. You can just lie there while I masturbate.” What was I thinking? My life is one of rejection and shame.

After being repeatedly shunned and humiliated I wandered over to Lidl where I spent ten minutes crying on my own in the frozen food section. Then I stole a giant block of Brie which I ate with my hands on the bus ride home.

When I arrived at my house all I wanted was to take a shower, but obviously our new squat doesn’t have one so I had to take a cold bath out of a bucket. Next I ate some out-of-date tuna salad that my flatmates and I fished out of the garbage bins behind Marks and Spencers. I couldn’t wash a fork because there was a huge slug on the sponge so I used my hands to eat that as well.

That night I went out in east London. I took some ecstasy to try and make myself feel better but just ended up getting so fucked that I gave a random guy I met on the street a blow-job behind a dumpster. I think his name was Paul. Or Patrick. Whatevs.

Now I’m in my room on a comedown trying to decide what song I want played at my funeral. Bunny is lying next to me. He’s depressed too. He’s always depressed—at least that’s what he says anyway. He’s thinking about the cast of Friends. He didn’t tell me this, but I can just tell. He’s always thinking about Friends. It’s sort of creepy actually.

“Are you thinking about Ross?” I ask.

“Oh my God, for the millionth time I’m not thinking about Ross,” he says. I don’t believe him.

“Then what are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking about how I want to wear my white jeans out tonight, but they have a giant piss stain on them and I don’t have enough money to go to the laundromat…” This is the beginning of the end.

What Are You Wearing?

Originally written for Vice Fashion. These are the mutants that inhabit the hell that I live in (aka south London).
.

Is south London cooler than east London? We went to investigate by interviewing some of Walworth Road’s locals.

Danielle AKA Guessforever, student

Hey, you look cool. What’s this look all about?
Danielle AKA Guessforever: It’s me, the style of me.

What’s hot right now?
T-shirts and cut jeans. You gotta cut the jeans.

What trends do you hate?
Everyone is trying to be all naked and hot pants and shit these days. Are you from New York?

Yes.
Shit, am I going to be in a magazine in New York?

Well, you’ll be on the website.
I can’t believe I’m going to be in a magazine in New York!

Penny and Maureen, full time mothers

So how would you describe your look?
Penny: Funky but, like, also normal.

I like that. Do you always dress alike?
Maureen: We’ve only just started. We just bought two more matching dresses.

What do you look for in an outfit?
Maureen: Voluminous colours.

Um… your baby just threw up.
Penny: Oh for fuck’s sake, hang on. It wasn’t on our new dresses, was it?

Hannah Logic, stylist

How does it feel to be way hotter and more fashionable than all of your neighbours?
Hannah Logic: Wait… I’m not very good with words. What’s a word to answer that? Um… good?

What about “satisfied”?
Whatevs.

Who’s your style icon?
Pippy Long Stocking.

What designers are you into?
Charles Anastase, McQueen, Ann-Sofie Back.

Dodgy Fella and D. Griz AKA “Famz”, rappers

How would you describe your style?
Dody Fella: Urban. I don’t follow no style, I’m just me.

Are you smoking a joint?
D. Griz: Yeah, you want some?

Sure. I like your anklet, is it Chanel?
D. Griz: No, it’s an ankle monitor. Big Brother, you know.

Did you do something bad? Money laundering? Drug dealing? Murder?
D. Griz: Yeah. Fighting and shit. You know.

That’s hot.

Dave the Stall Guy, entrepreneur

Who is your style icon?
Dave: Nobody. I don’t give a shit about fashion and stuff like that. I’m common.

Why don’t you care about fashion?
Because I ain’t gay!

You’re gay?
No, I’m not gay. Why do all yous kids think I’m gay? Do I look gay?

Yes. Fashion week is right around the corner. Which shows are you excited to see?
Why are you asking me these questions? I’m just your basic sad bastard.

Assorted friends sitting on a bench outside Tesco, unemployed

Hello. I like your outfits. Who are you wearing?
[Inaudible responses, confused glares]

Uh, what do you think about the way people dress in this neighbourhood?
Woman in black T-shirt: It’s shit!

Why?
This neighbourhood has always been shit. You can’t even go poo without someone knowing!

Yeah, totally.
Your tights is… Your tights is…

Sorry?
Ripped. They is ripped!

Yes, it’s very on trend right now. Are there any trends you’re following this season?
You can’t even go poo without someone knowing. Can’t even go poo.

So you’ve mentioned.

Noah

I’m gunna tell you a story. The story of me. But we don’t have much time so you gotta read fast. It shouldn’t take you more than a few minutes to get through this so don’t even think about getting up to piss or pausing to daydream because time is of the essence. Now breath in.

So I guess I’m sort of like a God. A messiah, if you will. I can make people fall in love with me. People fall in love with me all the time. Guys are always tripping-out over me real hard. I don’t really care because I’m not gay. Fuck that shit. I mean, yeah I’ve fucked guys before but I wasn’t really into it. I’m more into girls if I’m into anybody, but most girls are dumb fucking bitches anyways so I don’t really give a fuck about them either. I prefer the fucking fags to the fucking bitches, if I’m honest. Fags give better head. They get way more into it. Maybe it’s because they have dicks too, so they know what they like. But don’t ask me, I don’t fucking know. I mean, yeah, I’ve sucked dick before but I didn’t like it or anything. I just did it for the cash. If I was hard it wasn’t because I was sucking dick. It was more about the situation—the human contact. No one’s immune to that feeling you get when you’re really close to someone, no matter who you are or what fucked-up shit you’re into. It doesn’t matter where I am or who I’m with—if I want to, I can get pretty hard pretty fast. And my dick is pretty big too.

This guy I know, Joel, sort of exists beyond the constraints of gender and lurks in that misty realm between male and female, boy and girl, human and the divine. He’s got jet-black hair and these pale blue eyes that sort of make you feel like you’re high if you stare at them long enough. He’s really tall, but the way he stands his body sort of hunches over, making him look shorter than he is. He’s so thin that his pelvic bones protrude out over the top of his jeans, giving the allusion of hips. His long, lanky arms fall clumsily at his sides and his toes point in just a little. He’s basically in love with me.

I first met Joel in Central Park about a year ago. It was around midnight and he was wearing a girl’s white nighty and a pair of DMs. Sort of like a Kurt Cobain rip-off but he still looked cool. He was standing in the park alone all hunched over and from a distance I thought he was a chick. I mean, he’s got long black hair that covers most of his face and he was wearing a dress, so it’s not that weird. He was staring at me and even from afar I could tell that he wanted me. He just looked available. I can’t explain it. I can always tell that kind of thing, though. I guess it’s because I’m like a God or whatever.

So I motioned for him to come closer to me and he walked straight up out of the blackness of the night and as soon as he reached me he knelt down and started unzipping my jeans. He didn’t say a word. He just took my dick out and started sucking it. And all this time I was still thinking he was a chick. And as he was sucking me off he was looking up at me with these big, icy blue eyes that made me feel all dreamy and fucked-up and all I could do was stare deep into them, they were so beautiful. His face was basically perfection—the way his freckles scattered across his pale skin and how the black of his eyelashes crashed into the white of his eyelids. I was tripping-out over him bigtime and his beauty made me think of sex made me think of drugs made me think of death made me think of blood and right as I was about to come I dropped my fist hard into his perfect face and smashed the shit out of it until his blood spattered all over me and all over him and all over the night.

I sort of have a girlfriend but she’s a fucking loser. She’s always trying to be all hot and sexy but she’s just fucking dumb. I would break up with her but I’m too lazy and she always just seems to be around so I just deal with it. I don’t even think I ever asked her to be my girlfriend in the first place. I think she was just around so much that eventually she started calling me her boyfriend and I just went along with it. When she gives me head she’s always saying things like, “Yeah, do it Noah. Come in my mouth. I want you to come all over my face, Noah.” She thinks she’s being hot but it really just turns me off. Most of the time when she’s giving me head or I’m fucking her I’m imagining that she’s Joel and imagining that Joel is a girl, if that makes sense. I guess I’m sort of in love with Joel, but Joel as a girl, who doesn’t really exist. Not in this world anyway.

Being in love with real people is too easy because they’re right fucking there. You can have them if you want them, which so of destroys the fantasy. I’d much rather be in love with someone who exists solely within my own deluded delusion, but who is also vaguely physically and emotionally represented by a guy on Earth called Joel who I guess I sort of love a little but who I’m not fully into because I’m not gay.


Photos by Bella Howard

Hate

Our new kitten, William (who I don't hate)

Do you need a reason to hate stuff? I don’t think you do. Arbitrarily hating things has been a passion of mine for some time now, and nothing but good has ever come of it. So in that vein here are a few things I hate for no reason other than I just do, and that I’m going to keep on hating because I feel like it.

Lentils

They taste like crap. They look ugly, and whenever you see someone eating them they always seem so pleased with themselves, like ‘Yup, just eating some lentils. No biggie. My body is a temple. Never mind the fact that I smell like a junkie drenched in incense and haven’t brushed my hair since the 80’s.

Masturbation interrupters

I live with ten people, all of whom are masturbation interrupters. It’s gotten to the point where I’ve I actually had to fashion a sign for my door out of cardboard that reads Do Not Disturb. Masturbation In Progress, and I still I can’t manage to jerk-off without at least five different people barging in to ask where the can opener is, or if can they borrow five pounds, or if I’ve seen that video of the toddler high on LSD on Youtube because it’s sooooo funny.

Nicole Kidman

Why is she so tall? It’s so annoying. And why is her skin so pale? And why does her husband highlight and straighten his hair? And why when she smiles does she look like a walrus sucking on a lemon? No wonder her two adopted children refuse to call her mom.

People who say ‘Have a nice day’ but don’t really mean it

If I had a penny for every time someone gave me an insincere ‘Have a nice day’ I’d have at least 78p by now. It happens most in places like supermarkets, cafes and clothing stores, and every time it does I have to do everything in my power not to turn around and scream, “Really? Do you REALLY want me to have a nice day, you sad, deceitful bastard?”

People who read really trendy books in public with that smug look on their face, oblivious to how huge of a tool they are

These are the same people who emerge from movie theaters shouting “It was OK, but the book was way better,” loud enough for everyone to hear. You know who you are.