His and hers shopping

There were three kinds of muzak in the high street whorehouses I was dragged into today: Background bar funky house, G-A-Y mega anthems and lift muzak.

I ate in a ‘food court’ for the first time. There wasn’t a judge or king in sight but plenty of fast food. I’m not a massive fan of fast food. I’ll occasionally eat a chicken burger from a reputable restaurant the likes of Chicken cottage and Dixie Chicken (when severely inebriated) but today I settled for a dirty, dirty, Pizza Hut, Chicken Supreme. There was nothing supreme about it. Food for kings, food for rtards, you decide.


Again I experienced the P.O.W camp style waiting game outside the female changing rooms. Its horrible, I felt like waving around the shopping that had already attached itself to me, like parasites from early outlets, just to prove I wasn’t, in fact, a pervert waiting outside the changing rooms for a curtain to flap.

High street shops should really make more of an effort for the millions of us who are forced to stand around looking morkish and not even making eye contact, even though we’re in the exact same situation!

And lo, when it was my turn the whole venture took less than ten minutes. Who would have thought?