Miami: The Reason I Hate America (Part 1)

Four massive European twats. Life at College State-side.

Part 1 in my two part series on my travel experiences in Miami. Don’t hold your breath for the second-part in a few weeks time. It won’t be spectacular or anything.

“Going to America”. The crucial thought that got my sack of carbon waste through the first year of University. A thought, that when repeated, liberated me from the crushing difficulties of getting laid (my face had a lot to do with that) and freed me from trendy London kids who, having grown up with fields surrounding me in all directions, provoked me with their cool sense of style (I was wearing bandanas for fuck sake) and bamboozled me with their obscure urban mutterings.

Yes, that simple line, “going to America”, became my mantra of sorts. Repeated in my head like a Hare Krishna tripping on acid, I used it to remind myself that across the pond everything might be better and that I, once transplanted there, would lose my cheap-80s-hair-rock vagina-repulsing physical aesthete.

Needless to say, things don’t always work out the way you plan.

My experiences in Miami? The reason I have no real desire to ever go back to the USA.

Unless I get a casting call for a modern remake of Sweet Valley High or something. In which case I really need to start fellating more TV execs.

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My Homoerotic Travels: The Dawn of The “Will Peach Gay” Following

“will peach gay?” No, he just likes to kiss men.

Yesterday (as my Facebook friends have already been informed) an unhealthy amount of people attempted to find this site (along with, what can only be assumed, racy photos of me) using the search term “will peach gay”.

As a result, I’m naturally beaming with pride.

This matter of gaining more traction in the homosexual sphere, where it would only most likely unnerve any other self-respecting heterosexual male writer (I’m thinking those who stylistically assign themselves closer to Ernest Hemingway than, say, David Sedaris), only gives me a renewed sense of strength.

The way I see it? With the gay world at my side, I’m only one step closer to achieving my dreams of world dominance.

Joyous fags everywhere, I salute you!

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An Open Letter to Mr Simon Reeve, Travel Adventurer

Dear Mr Simon Reeve,

Every time I click on your Wikipedia page, look at your boyish face and stare into your steely blue eyes, I feel quite the stirring in my loins. That left eye slightly drooped and disproportionate in size, that cheeky auburn mop of hair dancing joyously in the African wind, that Khmer scarf wound tightly around your lithe resplendent neck? My god. It puts thoughts into my head that would make even D.H. Lawrence blush.

How fitting though, that I begin this ode by likening you to that of another of our great British literary compatriots. For you have stunned me just as much. Read More »