i love how after 70cl of whiskey my metabolism is up and running - i know, egoistical self-indulgent crap, but it works! i get to say ******* to 99 people and say: come on in to 1 - but that doesn't even matter, given the circumstance of the 1 being a schizophrenic; but hey! i grew a beard after all, being post-25 years of age, so a fully grow Amazon on my cheeks and chin, a welcome reminder of: the Aztecs played football too, but it was more like ****** of San Francisco mixed with golf mixed with netball mixed with the ailing N.H.S. chanting: god save our bed-******* queen, god save our precious artefacts from Hindustan. and Gobi the cabby from new Delhi - god save our... a round of pints for the lot of us! way-hey! charging into crusades with a jaguar export from Germany under the slogan: Vein Diesel biceps-flexed: too fast, and two of each: that'll be a pistachio - say it as meaning lime green, go on - oi! ******! who's that Russian hooligan with pistaccio?! one keg-pouch over here must have minded the safety-belt limit prior to a heart-attack and you're giving me all Abba lip-sarge and surging... gimme gimme a man at half time... two pints and a burger in and i'll be juicing up a saxophone for a crescendo better than this one... well... it was lovely to meet you, send my best regards to your mother, a sincerely; i swear to god, when i'm done, the only person you'll be phoning will be your mother.