Who would have thought? That I needed to be wasted to have a good Christmas? I guess if you know me well, you might have guessed it. But not me. I thought I was having a good time, but it was just the same as every other Christmas. Only this time I'm out, and I'm not feeling God's unconditional love lately.
So I may as well pop a few Aleve and drink seven Stella Artois' on His birthday, right?
Right?
Oh, well. It's too late now. It's December 28 now, and who the fuck cares? Not me, not my siblings, not even my mother who witnessed the whole night. All I care about now is when I can do it again. Maybe I should be alone next time, so I can brood or write or scream or whatever.
Or maybe I should be with strangers. Female strangers are my preference. Female strangers that are also drunk or high or something. That would be a merry fucking Christmas.
December 28, 2010
So I may as well pop a few Aleve and drink seven Stella Artois' on His birthday, right?
Right?
Oh, well. It's too late now. It's December 28 now, and who the fuck cares? Not me, not my siblings, not even my mother who witnessed the whole night. All I care about now is when I can do it again. Maybe I should be alone next time, so I can brood or write or scream or whatever.
Or maybe I should be with strangers. Female strangers are my preference. Female strangers that are also drunk or high or something. That would be a merry fucking Christmas.
December 28, 2010
