Thursday, January 29, 2004

It's that time of the year again. When they set off loud crackers and fireworks the whole night. And some of them scream too.

God I wish I had a sniper rifle and a whole lot of ammo now.

Tuesday, January 20, 2004

Distillery Rhyme

Hey Ho! The liquor man is here,
But he doesn't sell no beer,
However, please do not fear,
There's vodka for good ol' Prosey here.

Drink up, this is it,
Water of life, they call it,
Aqua vitae in Latin,
Trust me, it sure is something!

Drink it neat, or on the rocks,
Most prefer, with some Coke,
If you like it, there's more in stock,
Just don't drink, until you go broke.

But wait, there is more,
Whisky, tequila and some brandy,
Ahead lies two zero zero four,
Some liquor might come in handy.

Surgeon general's warning : Too much alcohol WILL kill you, but a bit helps when you're feeling blue

Monday, January 19, 2004

And welcome back to the blog of the most boring wanker in the world. Today has been a most bollixed day. Unsurprisingly, these days don't come by too often. Cause most days are ( you guessed it! ) boring. But those are the normal days. It's a different story, today. I think there's much to be attributed to my brief interlude with Mr. Vodka last night. After making a fool of myself outside the crappy malfunctioning automatic gate, I managed to piss security off by swiping my unauthorized access card a hundred million times just to hear the dumb buzzing sound. Frustration and the need for revenge does that to you. I had the last laugh, though. Sometimes, being petty does wonders for one's mood. And then I went on to alienate my colleagues for the rest of the day. By the end of it, I could stand right next to some of them and they won't even talk to me. Not bad, eh.

Oh yeah. Switched jobs. Ended the old one last year, started the new one this year. This being recorded for posterity, of course. In case I lose it on the road tomorrow and ram my car into an oil tanker. That will probably not be boring.

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.

Thursday, January 08, 2004

2003. Soddin' screwed up year.

The new year crept up on me like a thief in the night. Just like how the Good Book promised it would be. Barely into it and already Justine's blog gone the way of the maggot. Friggin' shame it is.

So. 2004. Still just the most boring bloke in the world.

Cheers, you wankers.