Charlie Mooncalf-Swellhead was nobility in the eighties; exclusive and refined, he boosted the egos of the rich and famous while simultaneously robbing them of cash and septum. Like some kind of unhinged Scarlet Pimpernel, but white, like the purest snow, yet as dirty as an old crack whore.
Things have gone downhill for Charlie over the last couple of decades, these days he's totally mixed up with Dexie and Daz, and the three of them prey on drunk people with limited funds and low self-esteem. For those with their faculties still intact, Charlie represents one of those people best avoided, as he seriously lacks in social skills, in fact, he's a social disaster. Hanging out with Charlie at parties is akin to going for a job interview with a turd in your pants. It stinks, and by proxy, so do you.
That's the problem with Charlie, he looks so good, with his powdery whiteness in cravat and breeches, but you can't do him without catching every metaphorical STD imaginable, lose friends and alienate people. Just like his fellow dandy, Dorian Grey, Charlie Mooncalf-Swellhead has an ugly, festering putrescency about him, that only becomes apparent when it's all too late. And just like a proper hooker, you need paper money to do him, unless he is now your only friend, and you've started carrying your own straw, snuff spoon or, worst of all, someone's doing him up your arse.
If you do Charlie, get him on his own, bring friends who know you're not normally an asshole and don't mix him up with too much booze. Boozing with Charlie is like accepting drinks from a serial date rapist, and remember that this boy definitely will not still love you tomorrow. He and you both will have nothing but contempt for you.
Mia Tagg 2009®