The Ultimate Showdown

 We shall abolish the orgasm. Our neurologists are at work upon it now. There will be no loyalty, except loyalty towards the Party.

Y'know that friend of yours, the one that punches you as a greeting? The overly masculine one promising you that he would've fucked this other cunt up if he was given the chance. The one who with you have these similar conversations:

Him: Yeah so he comes up to me and starts talking about it, and I'm like ''shut the fuck up mate'' and I proceed to K.O him with a punch to the face.
You: Did you really?
Him: Well I was thinking of it.

And then when you're waiting with this Macho Man mate of yours for another cunt of a mate, who swears he is on the bus right now but it seems that his mum is on the seat right next to him serving him dinner on the 243, and you get approached by ten Kidulthood legacies fucked sideways on two bottles of WKD in a desperate bid to become London's own Crips plus get a mobile phone or two in the process; he is bit of a letdown. After the general of the battalion proposes a duel as you deny their kind offers to commandeer your asses , you turn your head to the side, hoping to give Spartacus next to you a sort of a Batman-to-Robin nod before you commence in Mortal Kombatting their heads together, it finally sinks in that those running footsteps you heard a millisecond ago was in fact him as he was now probably somewhere in the Scottish Highlands and you were still in that piss-stenched alleyway, with the flickering street lamp, next to Stoke Newington Overground station, about to get Kung-Pao Chicken'd. Wishing that you weren't...

This catch-22 flow of events was repeated by my local library. You are now thinking, ''oh, another anti-cuts post from this twat. Get original.'' You are also probably asking how the above event has anything to do with this. It is a very bad comparison I know, but venting of frustration was due for both parties.) The scar this time, is much deeper. Oh yes, I am indeed talking about those 'self-checkout' machines that have infiltrated London libraries from Redbridge to Camden. To borrow a book, you now simply swipe your card, you swipe your book and you fuck off back to home. Drive-Thru Libraries; education for when you can't be fucked! It's like their has been a serious revamp in the Managerial Division of all London libraries and now ex-Tesco Managers who were sacked for their general shittiness in Tesco have now been pity-employed once again by the libraries, resulting in them bringing over their shittiness along from their shitty stores to the once not-so-shitty libraries. This shittiness I speak of have come in the form of these shitty machines.

I, even if the fact is that I am probably the very few, am one of those people that actually like that stick-it sheet at the front of a library book with the stamps of when the book was last borrowed. I like to give myself a self-congratulating pat on the back each time when I find that I am probably one of the most boring/coolest person in London Town (debatable), having borrowed a book that was last borrowed a near-millenia ago and concluding that person that did borrow it last was a filthy mongrel as I discover the yellowish stain on the 220th page of my copy of Meditations of Rene Descartes.

I also liked to please myself rather immorally from the fact that the hag of a librarian behind the desk, weighing up the pros and cons of each suggestion made by the '36 painless ways to die' post on the forum of  collectivesuicide.com website with each book she scans, is obliged under contract to greet me, come up with pretense conversation and dutifully answer my several queries on where a certain Encyclopedia is 'cos I simply couldn't be arsed to look. Those days are slowly vanishing. The little bits of social interaction mankind gets without achieving themselves a restraining order, is soon going to be locked up in a museum behind giant frames, where the kids of the future balancing on their hoverboards glare through their gas masks at a thing that once existed; 'talking'.

LONDON LIBRARIES; YOU HAVE DECEIVED ME.

Yours Truly

Cunt