Once, while stumbling along on the Clapham High Street, London, England at 3 AM, after imbibing a few cans of White Ace - 59p at Tescos - I noticed I was being followed by a questionable-looking miscreant. I slowed and then stopped quickly, wheeling around to confront him with my best intimidating stance. Slowly noticing I was now standing not far from him, he brought himself to a swaying stop and managed to bawl and yelp, "Oi Chink(1), come over ‘ere and suck me cock."
I covered myself in sick.
I reckon he was altogether put off with the idea of irrumating me after that and staggered away like he had just shit himself. And he probably had.
A few months later, in Boston, Massachusetts, US of A, I found myself negotiating the bank of the Charles after one-too-many Pabst Blue Ribbon Tall Boys - $1 at Sidebar on Bromfield Street - I espied a slimy Masshole following me, apparently. I stopped and turned to face the Yankee fucker. He stopped as well and mangling the Queen’s with that vile, atrocious accent of theirs, grunted, "Hey pretty girl, come ovah heah and suck my cock."
Now that's nice, 'pretty girl'? What girl doesn't like being called pretty? I, of course, smiled and proceeded to oblige.
He covered himself in sick.
What’s not to love about America? The cunts can’t hold their liquor, but at least they sure know how to treat a lady!
(1) I am not Chinese. I am Burmese.
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