"We've all been there", I say to myself, as I clear the history off my browser and make an attempt to clean up, trying to not notice the obvious parallels my sex life has with the real. The only ray of light beaming through the overhanging clouds of shame, being the federal agent (monitoring me for downloading the anarchists cook book, all those years back) being dragged through the treacherous path that I have taken. Somewhere in America, deep underground, a man is crying onto an erection.
HOW THE FUCK DID I GET BACK HERE? Going from being on the verge of a possible long term, loving relationship, to searching YouPorn for the most sordid wank-filth and filling a sock with more potential people than there are on this planet.
"I guess it's time to get back into the game", I tell myself, while cringing at the inherent patheticism of that phrase. I shave the weeks of depression off my face and douse myself in enough eau de toilette to destroy the ol' factory senses of everyone in a 20ft radius. For tonight, I'm going clubbing.
To quote Nietzsche, "Without music, life would be a mistake." Well Nietzsche never had to face the prospect of going to a club filled with wide-eyed freshers and middle aged men, with there backs to the bar, beer in hand, like vultures, perching on a mound of young peoples souls and innocence, waiting for the rohypnol to finally kick in. While the intense sense of nostalgia induced by 'The Fresh Prince of Bel Air' theme tune, causes a mass outbreak of "shuffling", leaving me slightly shifting my weight from one foot to the other, looking like "some cunt with a motor neurone disease".
Dancing doesn't come naturally to me, the only way I can engage in the strange social spectacle is by getting so utterly wankered, that making an arse of myself seems to have some benefit. Yet even then my dance moves can only be (politely) described as, Interpretative.
"Fuck it, I'll just hang around in the smoking area and try to talk women into my arms". I stand there for hours on end, chain smoking, trying to work up the courage to say "Hi".
Why is this so hard? I've never really tried to initiate any type of intimate/sexual relationship. Depressed or/and down on their luck women have just generally gravitated towards me. Then used me like a short term course of anti-depressants, in which they can dispose of once they feel slightly better about themselves. Don't get me wrong, it does have it's benefits. I get to be with someone who is way out of my league and get to put another W in my win column (ignoring the dramatic loss of that person not being in my life and of course self esteem).
However for now I don't want a short-term relationship, I just want to fornicate. And where better to find someone who's on enough drugs to have sex with me, than the dank, dirty, arsehole-ridden London club, known as EGG.
Next time on Fear and Loathing In My Underwear:
"See her, I'm going to disappoint the shit out of her"
"I am not ashamed to say that I have tried internet dating (by which I mean I am entirely ashamed and am very doubtful that this paragraph will make it past the final edit)."
Thanks for reading guys, I implore you to add me on twitter (if you like tweets about masturbation or bad puns) @georgeANDpack.
https://twitter.com/georgeANDpack
