Okay, so, I just know that before the end of the night I’ll be full of rum and cola, and eating shit (sounds bad, and is) made by Lays, even though I promised myself that I would do neither of those things.
Rum, because I ran out of whiskey, so I had to make a switch, or face a kind of reality that was un… impossible, imagining, or something.
On another note, I want to stop with the gratuitous profanity, for social and other personal reasons. However, I have decided that it is easier to identify as being inflicted with Tourette’s, and to keep everything else as-is.
Also, I need to stop posting these stories in the wee hours of the morning when my judgement is less than perfect.
Total failure, I am, says Yoda. Yoda is a toy. Yoda. Not Japanese.
(Please save as draft. Please. Please. It’s an available option. For the love of Jeebus, please save as draft. Review in the morning. Just in case you said the k-word. Know.)
If the time of this post is 02:50, then I failed at a simple level of self restraint.
—DG.
Inside Doug's Head 