Monday, November 27, 2006

Tough Weekend For Drunks Like Me

Woke up this afternoon with a headache. This is the first thing I saw . .
How many days in a row drunk is alcoholic? My mangled head managed to briefly assume a muddled state of slumber, although the speed at which I recover has significantly slowed. I die a thousand deaths.

Skip really went over the edge, became the sort of juggler envied by speechless onlookers. He hasn’t before matched the level of wit displayed last night, a real milestone in his ever conscious quest for self-improvement.
He pulled a quality ripcord on the tail end, disappeared without a sight, surely taking his prize away before eyes could catch his swift maneuvering. Even some experts never cease to amaze.

Alas, I was left with little but good conversation and a few leads. According to research, I only call 24% of the phone numbers attained. Not necessarily sure why, not as though memory fails me whenever I drink, quite the opposite, but I guess the answer is shaded in grays.

French Samantha is the new nominee for “girl I’ll probably never call.”
Feel real dumb today, as if all the brain cells I once possessed evaporated into the heavens, unmistakably leaving behind empty flesh.

The Hoff never disappoints when putting together bashes. Next time I'll remember to bring my blackened liver along. Drinking will begin again in a few hours, the neverending quest for salvation in booze continues.

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