Did I mention that everything is fucking shit? You especially dear reader, you’re just a provincial suburban wanker who’s so un-street that they actually still LIKE things. You see, I’ve taken so much good cocaine and had so much bullshit flashed past my weary, bloodshot eyes and my battered, half-deaf ears that I can only tell if something is good if it’s really loud and bright and doesn’t even attempt to say anything about anything, that way I’m sure I’ll never appear a dickhead if I get it wrong.
Thing is, I’m just another trust-fund fuckwit who ran off to east London wide-eyed and fresh faced only to find that it wasn’t full of original, cool, creative people, but other soulless, fashion-obsessed twats just like me and realized too late the bitter, cloying emptiness of it all.
I’ve done it all, everything you could possibly think of or create has been done before and experienced by me, the only thing left is cocaine. MORE cocaine. Well, and DMT, I bet you don’t even know what that is do you? You silly naïve students who actually don’t think all people and things are fucking shite. Everyone else in this business is just as cynical and coked up, but we admit it, so that makes us above the rest, doesn’t it?
People often say to me, how do I get to be a writer for Vice magazine? Well, first of all, you probably shouldn’t bother. Unless you’ve dipped your cock in a bowl of coke at an edgy party where Pete Doherty was at but you didn’t even look at him because you were too cool to give a fuck, you need not apply.
If you have done, the next step is to move down to London and become so deeply mired in the evil that is that is being a hanger on in the ‘scene’ that you become overwhelmed with self-loathing, the likes of which you can never return from, then spill your bile across the pages of Vice between drinks and wait for the end to come.
Alternatively, you could stick where you are, write original stuff about all the mad shit that goes on in your own mad little corner of the world, write about what you like and who you are and the place where you live and then we will have to come to you because you will posses more originality and edge than we could ever dream of. We are actually jealous of you people, with your joy and innocence, that’s why we try to sell you all this patronising cynicism so we don’t feel so bad about our own self-hatred.
Now, here’s an American Apparel advert and some photos of badly dressed hicks. See you next month folks.
By Kenn Taylor