Hot sun out, smoking some dooby on the porch with a cheap gin in a glass that needed a good wash 3 days ago. But you don't care - all you need is that harsh swill burning your gullet and to send you into a stupor. But what to do CeeJay
? You're all out of ice and the hooch is running low. Ya gotta go down to the shop, but your t-shirt is stained and you're still a bit jittery from last night's bender.
You scratch your arse and smell your finger. You like smelling your butthole, but boy it's a real humdinger this time. You shot out two earlier in the day after a miller's instant coffee, but it's all such a haze - did you remember to wipe the second time? Oh yeah, now it comes back to you. You fell asleep on the fucking toilet. Shit, and you thought you'd already wiped. Aw man, fuck. FUCK. How did it come to this, you sack of shit. You just chop the gin and load up - fuck the ice. But the bottle is down to a 1/4. You thought the bottle would last the weekend, but you hit it extra hard last night. But who are you kidding, you always hit it extra hard. Those pricks at TrollKingdom - they fucking get you so worked up. It doesn't matter how much copypasta you do, it never fills the void. You know the truth when you stare at your shitty little room you and your antiquated PC sit in. Deep, deep down, you know if they could see you for the wretch you are, you'd lose - instantly. You know you're a loser. And, you know they know too. But you push it away. You can't change any of it - you're too weak.
What about the gin? Suns going down and you want to be fully buzzed before hitting up Venooker. You want to be passed out by midnight, so on ya bike. Aw but you hate the walk of shame. What about the butthole? Don't worry, you'll be in and out. Just keep your head down, don't make eye contact and hand over the credit card. Think of the relief when you walk back through front door - the clang of the bottles in your carry bag ringing in another night of reality-smashing oblivion.