Okay, I might have a problem. All day today, now yesterday, I was jittery, shaky, feeling fat and sad. I need to stop drinking and start going to bed at a reasonable hour. 11am is unreasonable.
Okay, I might have a problem. All day today, now yesterday, I was jittery, shaky, feeling fat and sad. I need to stop drinking and start going to bed at a reasonable hour. 11am is unreasonable.
Captain’s log. Stardate now, the time between Christmas and New Year. Everything seems quiet, but the relatives lie in wait. The opportunity they have anticipated is right after the next midnight, or this one. Maybe two more. Soon, though. Timing is vital but unimportant.
It seems random, and I can never count on it happening, but sometimes it goes the right way. For context, I drink a lot of whiskey when I’m watching YouTube, and possibly Facebook, but unlikely. The whiskey is likely, the Fartbook is not. Heh heh. Fartbook. A Beavis inspired invention.
The government warning label on the back of a bottle of whiskey is problematic. (1) Pregnant women should not drink alcoholic beverages because of the risk of birth defects, but whiskey was there when they got pregnant. Plus, I am not a woman, nor will I ever be a woman, so the warning is irrelevant …
The CIA handbook says it takes a 70 foot drop to make it look like an accident. That balcony seems more like 40 feet, maybe 45, if I stand up and leap backwards.
Inside Doug's Head 