Leicester Square can take a long walk off a short pier for all I care. Good riddance!


I’m walking to work, keeping myself to myself, when I hear a hacking sound and a beat later feel something slimy slap the back of my ankle. I crane my head around to be confronted with a gob of spit the size of my fist slipping down the back of my leg and inside my shoe. This dog man who is responsible is stood there and just does eyes at me like, “life’s a bitch, am I right?” He saunters off. There’s no tissue to be found. So I have to use my bare hand to wipe his bogging slime off my person and try to stop it pooling in my shoe. I just… WHY ARE YOU EVEN SPITTING IN THE FIRST PLACE? Kill everyone who spits. Lock them in underground bunkers and let them drown in their own mouth grot.


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