I consumed another spread of intoxicants last night. This time I don't feel so rotten, mainly because I stayed in bed for a few extra hours this morning.

While giddy in the throes of my lunacy yesterday, I embarrassed myself in front of my guests by singing "Blue Moon" by the Marcels and "People Got To Be Free" by the Rascals at the top of my lungs. Forunately both are good friends are were entertained by my silly merriment. In other settings I would certainly have earned a labelling as an obnoxious clown of a drunk.

The stew of pollutants had temporarily atrophied my appetite, and I woke this morning in desperate need of nourishment. I reined in the galloping herd in my stomach until I reached the office, where I annihilated several glazed twists.

This weekend I face a punishing marathon of degradation: pizza delivery every waking minute. This begins when I finish here, Friday at 5 pm, and ends on Sunday night at 9pm. I will be dissheveled and grumpy once finished, but considerably wealthier. I would wither away to emaciation were it not for the greasy, fatty, delicious sandwiches assembled in this cholesterol castle.

It really sucks to see people I haven't talked to in years by handing them pizza. Downright embarrassing. I would only look more a fool if I clumsily pointed out that I hold a decent and respectable job on the weekdays. I should apply for some warehouse muscle work. Good excersize and anonymous.
2:42 PM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm