Rites of Patches

This July, I spent two weeks abroad in the United Kingdom. Two friends and I spent five days in London, followed by seven days in Scotland. The stories that follow are totally true and not in any way exaggerated or embellished.

Day 1

Before this trip, I had never been to another country, much less another continent. This meant that I would need to have my first experience flying.

I’m not sure we were meant to fly. If I was a god and I made a decision not to give a species wings and then discovered them flying through the air, I’d be pissed. If there is a god, I feel like I could have achieved the same effect by shouting “FUCK YOU, GOD!” for eight hours.

…Which I made sure to do the entire flight

After a concert I didn’t like, we returned to find that someone had stolen a bunch of our shit. My iPod was gone, and one of my friends and a cute Swedish woman lost their MacBooks.  Clearly the lesson here is not to trust Europeans and their damn socialism.

Damn you, Theodore!

The likely culprit was “Oxford Bro,” who regaled us with stories of “Totally, like, fucking this one Canadian chick” to celebrate Canada Day. This should have been our first hint that something was amiss because I’m pretty sure it’s common knowledge that Canadians reproduce asexually.

So, in half a day, I went to a concert I didn’t like and had my iPod stolen. Good start.