Magic America.

Why in the name of f*ckING JESUS do we suddenly need people dressed as mascots popping up like unwanted FACESORES at random events?

We never used to have them and I don’t remember everything failing miserably and falling to pieces because we didn’t have a seven foot tall rat squirrel dancing around like a massive animated dogsh!t.

Children are f*cking frightened sh!tless of them and adults think they are complete and utter furry animal bollocks. And if they don’t think that then they are definitely both perverted and stupid idiot babies at the same time.

It’s because we keep f*cking blindly copying things that America do like some kind of wide-eyed childbaby who just cannot wait to be just as awesome as the idiot f*ck teenagers it idolises for smoking fags and being utter c*nts at every given opportunity.

Why is this?

Why do skin-crawlingly American things keep being dragged like rancid dog carcasses into that tiny little fragmented vomit-stain that is the only remnant of what we used to smugly call our culture ?

f*cking hot dogs, coffee shops and Harley Davidsons and stupid bastard bunting and shopping malls. – are we really that f*cking sh!t that we need to just bizarrely steal stuff and rub it furiously all over our throbbing collective genitals?

I mean don’t get me wrong, America is f*cking great – fun and massive and full of amazing people and mountains of food to put inside your mouth. But for f*ck’s sake – roller-coasters are pretty cool but I wouldn’t irrelevantly try to use one to get to work every day like some kind of f*cking CLITORIS, would I?

I really think we need to stop it.

I really think we need more black pudding and real ale, less therapy and compulsive dental fetishism that results in teeth brighter than the sun. We need more farmer’s markets and cloudy cider and less bodily girth and oppressive shouting from inside a f*ckNEST of horrible mismatched clothes.

We’ve only got ourself to blame for being so easily pleased with TV programmes like Airwolf, Knight Rider and The f*cking A Team. Our childhoods were spent wielding plastic toys shipped in from a foreign dreamland like f*cking bottled imagination for the terminally hard of thinking.

Well I’m claiming back my f*cking culture and making a stand.

I went into MacDonald’s earlier and demanded a beefburger and chips and a drink of pop. I steadfastly refused to acknowledge the word “fries” – instead electing to stare blankly through the apocalypse-skinned teenager in front of me until they gave me CHIPS.

f*cking CHIPS.

I love it when a plan comes together.