Monthly Archives

April 2010



April 29, 2010

Over the past few weeks we’ve been seeing less and less of Johannes. He says he’s been crashing with some Polish squatters in North London, but has informed us of little else. He sort of drifts in and out of Mavi’s apartment, normally showing up around dinner time (convenient), eating our food and then disappearing again for days at a time. I have no idea how he makes money, or even is he does at all. Recently, investigation into whether Johannes is actually Austrian / an objectophile entered a bit of a lull. We just weren’t getting anywhere, and eventually we stopped caring. The kid is like a brick wall. Also, the person who was most interested in uncovering the truth about our mysterious house guest was Bunny, and he’s been trapped in Berlin for two weeks due to the lolcano. My partner is crime is MIA. Fuck you, Mother Nature.

The last time we saw Johannes was on Wednesday. He barged into Mavi’s living room around midnight, moving rapidly in his character, teenage lope, carrying a garbage bag full of clothes. Tattered tartan trousers, a Destroy T-shirt, corpselike face slashed with lines of red paint—he looked straight out of Jubilee. Every time I see him I can’t help but fall in love with him; he’s absurdly beautiful. Dead-eyed, Johannes explained that he had fallen out with the people he was squatting with, and that he needed a place to stay temporarily. The ever-accommodating Mavi obviously offered him her sofa. When I asked him what he and his squatmates had gotten into an argument about, Johannes toed the floor and mumbled, “They are not nice people.”

The following morning I got a call from a hysterical Mavi. She said that Johannes was gone, and that a bunch of her designer clothes had gone missing from the apartment, along with some DVDs and a digital camera of mine (an old, shitty one, but still). She said he left without saying goodbye. Fucking prick. Considering that Johannes has no phone, Facebook or email that we know of, we have no way of getting in touch with him. At this point we’re all pretty certain he won’t be coming back.

Later that afternoon I called the HMV in Surrey where Johannes previously worked, asking for him. (If you remember, we know he worked there because we found his pay slip). The girl on the other end of the phone informed me that a boy named Johannes had work there recently, but about a month ago he just stopped showing up. When I asked if the Johannes she was referring to was Austrian, she answered, “No, but I remember him motioning that he lived there for a while.” When I asked if he had neon blue hair she said yes.

In my fantasy, Johannes is consumed by wanderlust. He’s constantly moving, making new friends, taking what he can from them before moving on to somewhere new and doing it all over again. He rinses people. With each new home he takes on a different persona. People like him because he’s this cool, elusive character. You can’t really figure him out, but he gets by on his strangely beautiful appearance and his backward charm. Obviously I can’t be 100% sure that any of this is true, but it seems pretty likely, don’t you think? Who knows, perhaps I’m being a tad bit romantic. I feel used.


Friends I’ll Never Meet: Luke

April 25, 2010

Obvs I have loads of internet friends as well as real life friends. (Shout out Theresa Pankhurst, Remi Morin (where’s my friendship bracelet you bitch?), Corinna Spencer and the Twitter massive.) Even though I’ll probably never meet most of these digital besties, we still love each other in an abstract, 2010 sort of way. Recently I made internet BFFs with Luke a 21 year old art student from Sydney after he sent me this message via Facebook which gave me an instant boner.

OMG. Luke is basically my dream man: hot, skinny, weird, a little bit messed up and ultimately unattainable. Below is an interview I did with him. Now you can become obsessed with him too.


Hey loser. Tell me about the accident and how it happened.

I was hanging out with some friends in a seedy park sculling goon sacks before going out one night. The park was right next to this upmarket looking construction site, and after a quick joint I followed my two friends inside and climbed up to the third level of the building. It was pitch black aside from the balcony, which was lit up by the moon. I started walking towards the light, and suddenly I was falling. I wasn’t completely aware of what was happening, it all happened so quickly. Next thing I knew I hit the concrete floor with a bang. It wasn’t until I heard my friends voices above me – who were on the second level – that I realised I had fallen three levels onto the ground floor.

How bad were you hurt?
I fractured my foot and spine, and shattering my heel bone into more than 27 pieces (the doctors stopped counting when they reached 27). I now walk with a limp and I’ll never be able to run again. Although apparently it was good that I was blazed and boozed when it happened, because if I had have been more aware and stiffened by body, the effect would have been more detrimental. Moral of the story – drugz are good.

That sucks! Is sex different now?
Not really. I guess it means that I’ll never be able to experiment with running sex or trampoline sex. Not quite sure what they involve, but I would have been keen to try them anywayz.

I’ve heard that gay people can’t catch balls. Does this have anything to do with you falling off the roof?
Hahhaha. What!? Karley, are you high right now?

Hmm… kind of. So, do you ever kiss girls?
I haven’t since some slut party I went to when I was 12. We had just discovered making out, and we played ‘competitions’ including longest kiss and most inventive kiss. It was pretty seedy now that I think about it.

Hot. So do you want to make-out sometime?
Hellz yeah!

Ok cool, I’ll think about it. What’s your default thing to jerk-off to? Mine’s Jamie Bell in a dress.
Closeted gay boys who act straight. That and Gaspard Ulliel.

Oh my god, I just Googled him. He’s so hot!
I know!

Who’s hotter, Taylor Hanson circa Middle of Nowhere or Leonardo DiCaprio circa What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?
Is this a joke question? Who could ever top Leo? Besides, I loved Zac not Taylor.

Eww Zack is fugs, Taylor is the most beautiful creature on the planet.

Who is your favorite ever America’s Next Top Model contestant? Mine is Shandi (season 2) because she was super hot but also edgy. (She has a neck tattoo now by the way—I saw her walking down the street in NYC once. Lolz).
Definitely Amber – more entertaining than Tyra herself. You haven’t lived untill you’ve seen this Youtube video:

OMG she’s so Marlon Rando, I remember her. Lastly, do you like Justin Bieber?
Bail. In ten years he’s going to be some drug riddled coke head, and not in a good way. Actually, he probably already is. No wait, I changed my mind – that’s hot.

So hot!


The Underwear Theory

April 23, 2010

Underwear says a lot about a person. In his book The Philosophy of Andy Warhol: From A to B and Back Again, Warhol said, “I would rather watch somebody buy their underwear than read a book they wrote.” Underwear, he suggests, is a reflection of character. Personally, I don’t wear underwear because mine are always dirty, and when I do they’re the crappy £1 kind they sell at Primark. But there you go — I guess that says something about me.

Based on this theory, to get the down-low on a guy, all you have to do is check out his undies. Boxers or briefs, designer or generic, clean or cummy, newly bought or tattered, bought by himself or by his mom — these things all signify something. Recently, I dated a guy who folded his underwear. On paper he was everything I ever wanted: beautiful, unstable, brilliant, self-destructive. In reality, he did things like point out if my eyeliner was asymmetrical and vacuum my bed. Not surprisingly, the underwear-folder turned out to be a control freak. I should have seen it coming.

I’ve always had a thing for guys who wear boxers. I like to be surprised, you know? To me, boxers symbolize a quiet confidence. If a guy’s underwear is too tiny I just feel like I’m being sent mixed messages. Boxer briefs can seem a bit arrogant. American Apparel Y-fronts are a little trendy. Jock straps are too gay. Unwashed suggest a gross-tasting dick. And so on.

So, in an effort to learn more about the beautiful and intricate science that is the male undergarment, I recently took some photographs of boys in their most intimate attire. Anything in the name of journalism. With this information in mind, please take from these images what you will.

Bunny, 21, writer, and Armin, 22, philosophy student
Bunny and Armin are best friends. Bunny is my housemate and I know for a fact when I asked him to pose for these pictures that he had no underwear on. Armin had a pair of generic black boxers on. They were being really finicky about what underwear they wanted to wear in the photos. In the end, they went through my pyjama drawer and chose these matching American Apparel Women’s Jersey Booty Shorts. They were really excited about their underwear matching.

Andy, 22, art student

What kind of underwear do you normally wear?
Andy: Normally boxer shorts, although I never really think about it that much.

Where do you buy your underwear?

Primark, markets, anywhere that’s cheap.

Do you consider what girls might like when choosing underpants?
I have, yeah. I have nicer pairs for when I go on dates.

How often do you change?
Four or five times a week.

Robbie, 22, photographer
My friend Robbie showed up for the shoot in these women’s lacy control pants. I thought this was a bit odd. When I asked him about his choice, he said: “Some days you want to feel the breeze, other days you just want everything to stay in the right place.” I guess that makes sense.

Dev, 24, musician

What kind of underwear do you normally wear?
Dev: Boxer briefs, because they’re the most comfortable. I can’t wear loose underwear. I hate it. It makes me feel so weird. What’s the point in wearing underwear if it’s loose? You might as well just not wear it.

Do you ever think about what girls might like?
No, never, actually. Because I only wear pretty generic boxer briefs, I pretty much think I can wear any pair and it would be OK. Plus, I feel like most girls don’t even look anyway.

Edgar, 20, music journalist
The purple thigh highs were my idea, but he didn’t argue.

George, 20, PR

Where did you get the underwear you’re wearing now?
George: My mum bought them for me from Marks & Spencer about a year ago.

What sort of underwear do you prefer?
I have some fruity colour bits and pieces that I like. It’s good to add a bit of colour to the downstairs region, you know?

How often do you change your underpants?

Every day, if I can.

Bunny, again
“I can’t remember ever buying a pair of underwear. I don’t even know where the few pairs of underwear that I own came from. I think I probably just stole them from friends.”

Twiggy, 20, DJ

What are you wearing?
Twiggy: Emporio Armani boxers. They were a Christmas present from my girlfriend.

Does you girlfriend always buy your underwear?
Sometimes. I have a really colourful underwear drawer and most of my pants are really wacky. She bought me these because she wanted me to own some nice, normal boxers.

That’s cute.
I guess. I sort of just wear whatever. Actually, that’s not true: I prefer boxers. Briefs are too tight.

Stella, 23, fashion student
This is a girl, obviously. I met her at a bar and thought she was really hot. I told her about my photos of guys in their underpants, and she said that she liked to wear boys’ boxers because she thought they were both comfortable and sexy. I agreed.



Let Me Squat Your House

April 21, 2010

Judging by the success of my recent attempts to Google-manifest my destiny (namely Secret Garden Wheelchair Kid, Dennis Cooper and Hamilton Morris), I’ve decided to try my luck and pray to the internet once again. Here goes…

I’m looking a free apartment in New York this summer. Basically I want to house sit. This might sound like a ridiculous request, however, I promise I’m not as mental / disgusting as my blog posts may imply at times (although I never lie). Surprisingly, I’m actually a meticulously clean and respectable human being—it’s the people around me who are gross. Below are some examples of the kind of place I’m looking for.

Thanks! Can’t wait to hear from you! Email:


Immaculate Contraption

April 20, 2010

We’ve been living in our new squat—a two story, disused warehouse in east London—for two weeks now. Since the move four new squatmates have joined the Squallyoaks crew—one Hungarian girl and three Italian guys. My favorite thus far is Dante, an Italian skateboarder with a fetish for crafting homemade sex machines out of found objects. Think Dr. Frankenstein, only way more pervy. He’s so lolz.

Dante is a twenty three and from Sicily. Tall, curly brown hair, lovably geeky—he reminds me of an Italian Seth Cohen. His most noteworthy trait is his obsession with sex. It’s all he talks about. Not in a creepy way; it comes across more as an honest expression of his general intrigue on the subject.

When I first met Dante, within five minutes he was briefing me on his growing interest in DIY sex toys. He said he spends hours thinking up weird ideas for pleasure devices, and then makes them out of silverware, dildos, wood, tools—anything he finds lying around. It’s pretty cool, actually. When I asked to see some of his creations, he eagerly ran off to his bedroom and returned with a large wooden box. From inside he produced what appeared to be a medieval torture device. “This is my latest creation,” he smiled, placing the weighty, metal object into my hands. “I call it Sex Saw. It used to be an electric hand saw, but I’ve removed the saw part and replaced it with this.” He pointed to the large pink dildo fixed to the end of the saw’s body. “This thing makes girls fucking scream. It’s so insane.”

When I asked how it worked, he turned the machine on, causing the dildo to violently thrust forward and back again in a rapid, repeated motion. The thing literally looked like it could kill someone. Either that or generate the most intense orgasm of one’s life—I couldn’t decide. “Pretty cool, huh?” he said with a dopey, self-affirming smile. I nodded graciously, and he began rummaging through the box for more goodies. He pulled out an electric shaver with a kush ball glued to where the razor should be. Next came a medical glove with feathers taped to the tips of each finger. Next a small turnip.

“What’s the turnip for?” I asked.

“Slip this baby into a condom,” he grinned, “and you’ve got yourself a homemade butt plug.” Obviously. “So,” he continued, reaching into the magical chest once again, “have you ever been into piss?”

“Umm, you know… whatever,” I stuttered not wanting to sound like a prude. I mean, I’m not avidly searching out piss sex, but I’m generally pretty keen to adapt to the sexual desires of whoever I’m with at that moment. Don’t knock it ’till you try it, I guess.

“Have you ever done it?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I say. This is true. It was kind of lame. It would have been cool if it was more spontaneous, but we stupidly planned it beforehand, which caused for too much preparation. Chugging two pints of water, laying out towels, providing cautionary wet wipes—it totally killed the mood. Then, when it came time to pee, I got stage fright and couldn’t go, so I just sort of awkwardly hovered over his chest in a squatting position for ages before any actual pee came out. Not sexy?

“Well if you’re into piss, this stuff can be handy” he said, holding up a roll of plastic wrap. “The other day a girl wrapped me in this stuff and then pissed all over me. Makes the act a lot more sanitary, ya know?”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

After sharing most of his weird box of perversion, Dante packed up his things and returned to his bedroom. I suddenly felt incredibly turned on, overwhelmed by the desire to know what Sex Saw felt like. I contemplated waiting until Dante left the house, then stealing Sex Saw and trying the thing out on myself. However, I reconsidered at the fear that I might fuck up and damage myself beyond repair…