Bitchell: Red, White and Fuck You

You’ve probably heard terrible things about me.

A skinny gay boy has likely told you I wrote a bitchy article about him on an international website; your friends have probably left Plush saying they saw an American outside sitting in a puddle screaming, “I’m from Miami, bitch. Do you think I give a shit?”

Or perhaps like the girl who stopped me on the street yesterday to say, “You’re that guy who fucked a sex toy on VICE”, you’ve spent an evening laughing at the comments left on my articles, niceties like these;

“Incredibly unlikable and unsympathetic.”

“Class obsessed.”

“You’re from Florida, write for VICE, and are ugly. You’re the trinity of evil.”

“You must have AIDS, you’re so skinny.”

Well, I’m here to tell you that, minus the AIDS rumour, everything you heard is true.

I’m a loud, rude, American gossip with a knack for over sharing and speaking his mind at the worst times. I have a poor self-image of my body. I’ve got a major class complex. I’m fucked up—and so are you.

Coming to Oxford as an American exchange student, I expected to find mentally stable, well-bred intellectuals that could handle their liquor.

Instead I found blonde girls in black mini-dresses on the ground outside Camera vomiting on their boyfriends’ leather shoes as they screamed about impending Classics examinations, closet cases inviting me to their stairwell so they could serenade me with the IRA theme song, and a posh girl lamenting how “Daddy gambled away the old money” and then asking me if her accent sounded “London”.

Oxford is a giant train station, and the only trains pulling in are hot mess expresses. When I brought this up—or wrote about it—my friends and acquaintances balked. I was being “judgemental.” I was talking about things “better left unsaid”. Which was funny to me because whenever my friends drank their stiff upper lips began to quiver.

Mitchell finds sanctuary with a fellow ‘hot mess’

I realize I sound hypocritical (my list of personal issues is longer than Hillary Clinton’s resume). But I’m not throwing stones from a glass house—considering my issues, it’s more like a glass estate. It’s okay to be fucked up. I just believe in the truth.

Gossip is good for the people. So for the next eight weeks I’ll be writing a gossip column detailing the crazies I see and the problems I encounter at Oxford. If you have any gossip items or want to talk, email me. I look forward to being your hate read.