Last Friday night I went to town with a group of friends for dinner.  ‘Town’ in itself was not the problem – I have come to accept that Hamilton is very near perfecting the formula of young hooligans vomiting into each others’ faces and boy racers shouting obscenities from passing cars in order to create maximum unpleasantness in the streets.

No, rather it was the compulsion of Hamiltronian women to dress in skimpy clothes on a winter’s night and whore themselves to anything with a penis and a pulse. 

I mean, I like women as much as the nearest male, but there’s very little appealing about a whore. And a vast proportion of the females out there are honing into this apparently desirable ability of prostituting themselves out by exchanging alcohol for fornication. Now, I may not be totally up to speed on all the latest trends, but I must have missed the memo where sluts became popular, or at least popular enough to warrant a lack of decency as a measure of dress. Staggeringly enough, this trend applies the most to that unpleasant time after 10pm and before 3am, when the moon rises and the were-sluts rise from their steaming whore-pits and make their way to town with the minimum of clothing and the maximum of make-up. Whorish ladies: When the skirts and the belts in your wardrobe are indistinguishable, it’s time to make a lifestyle change. 

You see about town these pop-tarts in their push-up bras and attention spans shorter than their skirts drifting about in an ethanol stupor and you’re forced to ask yourself what anyone might seek in these vacant and vagrant people who can barely be considered ‘individual’ when they're rarely alone or possessing independent thought. And seducing drunken chicks is a weak man’s excuse for being charmless, witless, and fuck-ugly.

If you are charmless, get some charm. If you are witless, then go to night classes. If you are fuck-ugly, then make up for it by being charming and witty. Or plastic surgery. Otherwise, going after drunken women just shows you are too lazy to try for sober ladies. Shame on you.  

I know that not all Hamiltronian women are Horsemen of the Apocalypse in female form. In fact, there are a lot of very pleasant, respectful women out there. Unfortunately no one notices them because men are distracted too easily by cleavage and legs, and getting tongues down their throats, regardless of how inebriated the other party is. 

To those respectful ladies: Don’t worry. It just means you’re better. Know that Morgon loves you. 

You see, it’s no longer fashionable to be smart or have a personality. That’s why soulless individuals dominate our world, from the humble late-night streets of Hamiltron to the mass media of Hollywoodland.

Try having a personality. Go on. It’s a riot.

Or if you just want to get laid, then alcohol works. Because that’s the way it is. 

God, I hate this city. Get some decency, would you?