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Desperate Cry for Help 031
I know that life isn't all really about throbbing music and cheap flashing red and blue disco lights as you bop around to re-mixed Disco-Techno Goth Punk, but sometimes between the funny pills and glow sticks, it's easy to forget that in England.
You are sitting there at the bar, drinking a pint of cider and pretending to be Welsh, when suddenly a terrible realization hits you – there is just no way that you are ever going to pass for sane in this messed up society.
Once, in my coffee-drinking, pure living, polluting, environmentally aware but honestly-not-giving-a-fuck lifestyle, I had a niche. I knew my place.
Now, as I sit here, inebriated with British co-workers, I look, gazing deep into the amber liquid of my pint and wonder if this is just an island of alcoholic loonies, driven to insanity by bad weather and Danish lager.
It's rainin' again, again.
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