Sunday, January 18, 2004

What can I say? I'm fucking drunk. Too much vodka, I say. Takes a lot of concentration just to type right. But I will persevere. Yeah. I will. Fucking hell, I owe my blog that much at least. So, anyway, here we are, all drunk and stoned out. Not that it's a bad thing. If John Constantine can take that kind of shit, I think I can. At least I haven't started smoking yet. The amazing thing? I finished the remnants of my vodka, am listening to Suede singing 'Beautiful Ones' and most of all, I'M TYPING RIGHT. I still have the sense of mind to type right, use backspace in the event of a mispelling. But I think Winamp's playing too loud. Every moment though, I can feel control seeping back in. Look, no need to use backspace that much anymore. Control. Yeah. It's all about control yeah. That's the name of the game, all right. Control. Control is important. So here we are. Drunk. And spell-checking my blog. Bloody amazing. Always thought I was this boring lame-brained fuck. Now look. I'm spellchecking while I'm inebriated. How many of you wankers can do that, eh? Every moment. Control returns. And WTF^^ am I writing this? Well, if you're wondering, only to remind myself what a wordy bastard I can be when I'm drunk. Command and conquer. Conquer the devil. You know, I really wonder how loud Winamp is playing now. Must be kinda loud, cause I could hear the PC in the hall earlier with the door shut tight. Anyway, if LeeAnn Rimes says WE CAN, WE CAN. Yeah. We surethefuck can. Wow. Inebriation sure is fun. Now why didn't I discover this earlier. Of course, I'm remotely aware that my fingers are rather salty. Ooh. Salty fingers. And you know what I'm wishing for now? That I had more vodka. Cause it's fading away. And damn. I'm out of vodka. Of course, the hangover tomorrow is going to be pretty impressive. ATTENTION ADULTS. Heh heh heh. 10.26pm. Isn't this too early to be drunk? Never the mind. Maybe I'll open a packet of Twisties. So maybe the effects of inebriation isn't all that is hyped about. I mean, I'm supposed to be singing, yeah? But no. The most I can manage is some lame confession of gratitude. You know you're pretty fucked up when you can't even get drunk right. Bloody hell. BLOODY FUCKING HELL.

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