Alice in Fuckerland

You know Alice? No?

Yes, that Alice. Modern, sophisticated and confident.

Sick of romantic stories, she fell in love with the loneliness in a big crowd and the glamorous emptiness of Central.

As usual, she started to get drunk in FINDS. And slowly, she felt stupid and dizzy. Suddenly, she saw a group of bar-hopping bunnies in tux bounced by, and they hurriedly hopped to D-i and KEE.  Burning with curiousity, she followed one bunny tux all the way down to this WONDERLAND.  

Drunk and tumbling, she saw people in the place all with big white tags hanging down their chests. And her own tag wrote, "Miranda + Charlotte + Carrie". And she thought, "SHIT!"  She wanted to be Cinderella since she was a kid. And neither Miranda, Charlotte, nor Carrie seemed to be happy. It's always happier to be a princess with no brain at all.

Or, for a man in this place, the tag of any girl is nothing but a "PUSSY".

She looked around. Came a gentleman-like banker, wrote on his tag beautiful capitals, "DRINK ME".  Another gorgeous man flirted Alice with his charming eyes, carried a tag that said "EAT ME". Alice was fascinated, "Since when did we have truth in bars?"

A supermodel in Armani suit started to talk to Alice, "Honey, you are curvy," followed by a line she hated most, "Oh dear, from where did you get this gorgeous arse?"

"I know. I bought it from supermarket yesterday." she replied when she checked out his tag that marked "Fancy a fuck?"  She smiled, pulled out a pen and started to write on the tag of this supermodel, "SHORT DICK, BIG EGO."

Yet, the Charlotte in her was crying. She had this love bubble that bursted faster than the tech one weeks ago. It led her to re-evaluate herself.  Being a good girl wasn't easy. In investment terms, her long position incurred great loss. The reason could be, the market shifted to speculations on some short term JVs. 

She felt good by herself for years, but once invested her feelings, her whole life changed. Maybe she should be a speculator as well. No pain, no trouble.

While she was thinking, a 193cm, 6-pack handsome boy hooked her up with a mouthful of sweet talks. On his tag wrote BOLD numbers "22".

And "24"?

She knew she has nothing in common with this "22". Which is good. Just like a speculative stock, she didn't need to understand anything about him.  He's just a ticker symbol.  And she could change to nothing more than a number. That's all. And "22" is really crazy for her. 

At this very moment, she started to understand why the market went for a speculative JV. She felt sorry for this boy. And she felt sorry for herself.