the **** just happened last night?
oh, right, 1 litre of whiskey,
documented with an emptying bottle
and a clock...
   and the silliest thing a person could
do, was take a "selfie" with
a hat + pompom pulled over his eyes...
but i seem to remember something
else...
   while i was cooking stuffed peppers
today...
what the hell was it?
  ah, right... now i remember...
listening to i'm shipping up to boston
by the dropstick murphys,
and continually punching my face
for about 10 minutes...
while also in the silent movie way of
singing along to the song...
         who does that?! does what?
punch themselves in the face?
well... some people learn a martial art,
i'm a cheapo,
     i practice on myself,
if i can withstand my own punch in
the face, any other poker will have
a harder time to punch me out...
then again, there was the ireland vs. wales
match today, and i was trying
to jinx it, meaning: i wanted the paddies
to win... and win, they did;
  and it would appear i'm more irish
in terms of literary adventure than most,
i've have the james joyce oeuvre
under my belt...
           which is a bit like having finished
that ponce proust...
       i'm actually dreading reading
that book of his, and to be frank,
   i'd probably get off more reading
the small print of some terms & conditions
on a contract,
  or do the rain-man
                 and read a phonebook;
sometimes all you need in hell is a book,
there's no need for hellfire.

p.s. by the way, who made sisyphus roll
the rock up that hill?
was there some sort of guardian
        whipping him to repeat this
futile action? why didn't he sit by the rock
and contemplate it,
   becoming the architect of a cognitive
labyrinth?