vice magazine

So listen up all you skinny young things, with your Dexedrine, uh, sexualities and nosebleed sleeves walking these streets with heads full of clip in weaves and fucked up beliefs and your at-home chemical peels and skipping meals smelling like Bobbi Brown Beach with bulimia and the blood of babies and your grandmother whom you have sucked dry like a leech and men who will never be your boyfriends on your hands, when it all catches up with you—When you’ve social climbed and sucked as much dick as you can handle; when you’re finally gagging on glamorous glue instead of trying to paste yourself together with it—when the watermelons at J.G. Melon start bouncing off the walls and coming after you, when the Balthazar seafood tower finally fucking collapses on you, when you’ve eaten every poisonous flower at every afterhours and the editor-in-chief of… oh God, just forget it; anyway, when he has gone ahead and pissed on you in the shower, well, that’s when you know you’ve finally bitten off more toxicity in this city than you can chew.