Fear and Loathing in Sin Vegas

I tried. I really did. I tried so very very hard to think of reasons to like Sin Vegas:

Well, for starters I thought of the general cheeriness of the locals. But that just pissed me off. How can someone be so damn cheerful when they live in a place so devoid of culture that the local government have to paint plastic deer to create something interesting to look at? Plus, the place is littered with stray dogs and betelnut spittle for God's sake. And it stinks of sewage. How could anyone like it here? How?

I thought of the compliments. The "Oh, you are so beeeyoootiful..." and "You are so cute" comments. But they pissed me off, too. They were almost invariably uttered by fawning women... never attractive men (well, straight ones). Pah! How many times had I heard the same phrase now anyway? Surely it was a ploy? For what - no-one knows... but it was most definitely a ploy of some sorts...

And then tonight I remembered one of the things I really really hated about Sin Vegas. And of all the things I hate, this is most definitely highest on the list of pet hates: The stalking.

Yep. The stalking. It appears I have entered a portal into an alternate dimension of reality - where adults, kids, even the local firemen, take it upon themselves to stop, stare, point, gawp, harass and generally irritate the fuck out of me. In any other parallel universe it would be considered rude, possibly offensive, and edging towards the realms of racism to behave the way people do here towards waiguoren.

And why so irate now, I hear you ask? Because last night some moronic betel-nut chewing, half-brained prick decided to stalk (and I mean literally) my friend and I for a good half hour... maybe forty minutes... around the town on his scooter. At 3am. Where - WHERE - in the realms of logical thought would anyone... anyone.... with even half a bloody brain consider this to be NORMAL BEHAVIOUR? Hmmmmmmmmm?

To make matters worse - this is NOT the first time it's happened. TWICE beforehand some idiot with the social skills of an ameoba has decided it is perfectly within the concept of appropriate behaviour to follow me - a solitary girl - around the town. I mean, seriously, WHAT THE FUCKING HELL IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE? It's 2am and I want to go home... just fuck off and die, please.

Anyway - as for this guy, well here's the story:

Newboy and I were cycling home from the pub, whereupon we were quite obviously occupied in a conversation. Suddenly, we became aware of some overly-enquisitive local riding his scooter slowly alongside us. The knob-end decided he would interrupt and say 'hello' - which, being polite individuals - we felt could only be replied by another 'hello'. And then the stalking started.

First he decided to drive slowly and imposingly next to me and talk in Chinese. Do I look like I understand Chinese? Eh? The "I don't understand" line clearly did not deter him, which exacerbated the fact he was being sleazy and kinda... cracking onto one of us. Well, I had no idea who - it was me and a male friend, and quite frankly, you never can tell...

He held back and continued following us as we cycled aimlessly - desperately trying to shake him off.

Unfortunately, he appeared to have been taking stalking lessons from MI5 or something, because no matter where we went the familiar rattle of his shitty scooter could be heard in the background. Eventually, we began hoping he'd given up... and every scooter started to sound familiar. We continued talking. And cycling round in random directions to get rid of him. And talking. And then the rattle got louder... and louder... and louder again. And faster... faster...faster.

And that's when he grabbed my left boob. He sped up to catch up with us (hardly difficult as he was on a scooter and we were on old, crappy bikes), and then, just as he came up next to me he leaned over and gave my left breast a hearty squeeze. He drove off grinning smugly, as if he'd just hit the jackpot. Although, to be fair to the guy - you DO have to give him some credit for feeling smug. H had just managed to co-ordinate a boob-grab between two moving vehicles at speed, whilst shit-faced. That's pretty commendable work, there.

Anyway - it happened so fast I just screamed "YOU F***ING C**T!" and as he sped away on the scooter he looked back, still smiling. I was SO MAD I was shaking. I'm still pissed off now. I guess you can't tell with all the humour and stuff in the blog (har fucking har har har).

Newboy took full advantage of the racer-style bike and sped after him (futile, of course...) as I shouted expletive-laden rants involving the loss of limbs, reproductive organs and facial features. I threatened to ensure he would never smile or stand erect again. And I promised to involve A LOT OF pain. And you know what? I think I probably would have done it too. I'm quite placid - but people like that just make my blood boil. And I'm of the school of thought that believes in the justice system and finds capital punishment ever so disdainful. BUT on the other hand, put me in a room with a pervert like that... promise I wouldn't get jail-time... and I would make sure the sick fuck never smiled, ate, reproduced, or functioned with all limbs intact again. Seriously.

So OK - I'm pissed off - but here's a deeper mystery: I don't know why, but I suddenly and inexplicably become Glaswegian whenever I'm faced with a situation that makes me really really REALLY pissed off. Last time it was when some smarmy French piece of merde tried to threaten me with a knife - and he got bombarded with a truly exceptionally frightening tirade of abuse in retaliation, all with a strong 'weegie' voice. I had nothing at the time to defend myself, but I think I shouted and hollered my way out of that one quite well. The boy looked positively shell-shocked. Poor lad. I can't even begin to describe how angry I was - other than when people say getting angry is 'seeing red' - for me, it truly is. I get so angry it's like a red fog descends and it's all I can think about.

But yeah - I would like someone to solve that little mystery. And find me that prick I encountered last night, so that I can fulfill my promise to him to remove his reproductive organs using my bare hands and a rusty, blunt razor blade.