British Holiday Workers in Malia Have So Much Sex They Don't Even Bother Scraping Off the STIs

This article originally appeared on VICE UK.

A "holiday rep" seems a little bit like a job that was invented by a bawdy cartoonist, or an ITV comedy writer. Young Brits adventuring abroad, but instead of gazing upon the masterful beauty of Machu Picchu or caving through the winding tunnels of an ancient pyramid, they're making human petri dishes out of their genitals on party islands and giving themselves onset liver failure, all while doing minimum work and maximum fucking about.

As we all know, Greece is in a bit of a financial pickle at the moment. I'm not going to pretend to know the ins and outs of the complex system of currencies and loans and debts and what have you, but I will say that whatever hardships the Greeks are facing currently, we, all of us, everyone, should spare a thought for our expat holiday workers. They're stuck out there, in that moneyless hole, baking in the sun, and their genitals are falling apart.

According to the Sun, workers in Malia's Club 18-30 resort—a job I personally would only take if someone told me a nursery would explode if I didn't—are absolutely crawling with STIs like chlamydia. Apparently, their £15 [$22] a day wages don't allow them to buy the requisite antibiotics to rid themselves of the diseases. One young man, a bar worker who calls himself "Dobby," claims that he has to choose between paying his rent and eating or getting medicine for his melting knob. "I came out in April and plan to stay until around September. It would cost an absolute fortune to get rid of the STIs every time," he says. For young men like Dobby, it's easier and cheaper to go there, load up on dick diseases, then get them seen to by the poor doctors and nurses at NHS hospitals upon their return to the UK.

But what if we didn't allow them back? What if UK border control, instead of focusing on illegal immigrants and drugs mules, made it their top priority to bounce these disease-infested booze hounds straight back to Malia, where they could live forevermore as a community of spit-swapping, sex-crazed, fire-crotched, impoverished madheads? There's enough pressure on the NHS without RyanAir planes full of gonorrhoea goons filling up our nation's GP waiting rooms, honking vuvuzelas at old biddies trying to get back medicine, and children playing with those loopy wires with the buttons on. You know the ones I'm talking about.

The most bemusing thing about this clap holocaust among British holiday workers in Greece is their total nonchalance towards it. "It wouldn't be Malia without catching some sort of disease. You catch it, then you spread it about and if you were to get rid of it you would just end up re-catching it," explains Joe, a 22-year-old plasterer from Kettering.

Perhaps it's only right, though. These kids are in Greece, the birthplace of wanton sexual exploration. We should be proud of our spotted dicks over there. They are harking back to a time when civilization was at its most liberal and easy to grow, free from the oppressive constraints of chastity-led religious doctrine.

Don't pity these pustulated young pińa colada sippers, envy them, as it will be them immortalized on the side of an ouzo pot, engraved into history, and sold at a beach shop alongside some ashtrays and some poorly produced bucket and spades. We salute you, British holiday workers of today. Shag on!

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