The Gates Of Hell

Everyone knows JLS are a bunch of warbling faggots. But props go to their marketing team for hoodwinking those hoodlums into almost ruining the official opening of the M&M World in Leicester Square last year.

Look those geniuses dressed them up in the four different colours of m&m!

I don't have a damned clue which m&m Boris is.

What i mean is that not even the presence of four maggots in colour coordination could scupper the celebration of 5floors of primed retail space opening in the heart of central London dedicated solely to the promotion of a chocolate brand. M&ms are the realness, the chocolate-coated peanuted elixir of life. No other confectionary gets remotely near as close to my heart - literally - those muthaz are clogging up my arteries on the daily.

My busy schedule made a visit out of the question until last weekend, but on the bleakest of saturdays pissing with rain and hanging like a motherfucker I made the pilgrimage.

 What an entry! Blue m&m came to greet me and i had my photo taken.

But with five floors of subterranean madness to check out and my head pounding like an AK47 round from Arnold in Commando, shit started going loco fast.

Some assistant inexplicably put Red m&m on my head. He hit the floor. 

The merchandise was really fucking weird.

And i'm sure the garms woud've been fresh had i been a mateless six year old girl.

No matter, the real reason any hardened fan hits M&M World is for some hardpound chocolate injection. This is what i had come to see. Millions upon millions of peanut m&ms organised into coloured containers for the ultimate of all pickNmix experiences!

But much like having Cotillard, Hudson and Huntington-Whitely lying prostate on a bed in kinky lingerie beckoning you towards them, at the most inopportune moment of all stage-fright took hold and hit me square out the park.

 I totally lost it. 

Leaving my half-composed m&m selection to hit the floor and scatter in multiple directions, i legged it towards the till, swiping a souvenir mug in slow-motion, refusing to end the experience without at least something to show for it. 

That's when i met Jordan. By the demented smile on his face i could instantly tell he was in intensive therapy. His skin suffered from a severe lack of vitamin D and his eyes had no life in them. He stood cemented in this pose for ten minutes, holding my shopping bag, staring straight through me. After an eternity peppered by the crescendo of m&ms being crunched i realised he was trying to hypnotise me, and it dawned on me that those who enter M&M World can never leave. In a last-ditch bid to save myself from this hell on earth i tore the bag from his vice-like grip and ran for my life, but not before snapping this testament to his insanity.

Barging old woman and toddlers mercilessly to the side i sythed up five flights of escalator and smashing this sign with a donkey-kick on my way through the door..

.. I cleaved through the 3rd rate oxygen of Leicester Square once more, embracing crack-dealers and lairy china-men alike as long lost friends, basking in the freedom that five minutes before i was convinced would never be mine again.

Do not ever go to M&M World. 

By all means sit on your sofa at home and chow down enough family packs to warrant getting yourself craned to A&E through your roof, but don't ever go there.