so that's what it feels like?
huh... who would have thought...
remaining sower of proverbs
sober for the entirety of the day...
feeling either
(a) am i going to survive this,
i feel like a flat
   souffle, or sour milk,
quizzical,
  disorientated,
      not much of a headache...
just this brimful dosage
of nausea... dizzy but not dizzy
with an encouragement of
a falling sensation akin to
that analogue dream recount...
or...
(b) did i really **** out
what i was supposed to **** out?
hell... i felt better
on worse days...
once i ****** into
a glass of red wine
and called out the blood of
Christ:
   saying silently:
what are you selling me?!
what? bear grylls
can squeeze a yak **** in
the middle of nowhere
   to get the water...
and i can't make a profanity
****-show by *******
into a glass of wine and mixing
it with the metaphor?
sure sure...
washed my death and ate
some raw garlic later...
which doesn't exclude me from
performing oral ***...
   you know that,
exclusive merger of licking
out a ****...
where you face looks so shiny
as if you've been smearing
melted butter all over your face?
let me tell you...
that's 10 quid extra with
the Bulgarian prostitutes...
the paradoxes of this world...
no kissing...
which i transgressed -
kissed one for an hour,
1950s cinema style...
   just because i, "forgot" to
come equipped with cis-
(whatever the hell that means)
genitals...
     i just forgot to trim
my ***** for the occasion...
so we kissed for an hour....
   god... when a woman wraps her
leg and gobbles down
the sight of your torso...
and the lights are dim,
and her Bulgar skin comes off
auburn,
    molten copper...
         but, yes, yes i am,
dysfunctional drunk,
excessive drinker...
      weighing in at over 100kg,
and over 6ft...
  a liter of whiskey is like:
raining lemonade...
but i do my drinking when everyone
in the household is asleep...
i like my privacy...
plus, talking to me while drinking...
you'd be better off...
playing squash...
   god i miss playing squash
up in Edinburgh...
  technical question...
  is it illegal to smack the squash ball
off the side walls after the serve?
and that variety of rubber
on the *****...
  how you'd have to warm
the ball up by doing a few
precursor smacks against the wall...
what a beauty of a game..
certainly beats tennis...
i never knew why tennis was
so much more popular,
the pace in a game of squash...
plus the concept of a cubic game...
and then the drinking begins...
only after a sudoku has been solved...
still...
   that eerie feeling of
a near-death experience...
hanging over you throughout
the day...
mind you...
great news out of Brighton university...
apparently the university
is taking precautions in...
  providing a course for women
considering making extra
dough... by considering a part time
career in ***-work...
         so i'm guessing more
sugar daddies and old pervs...
unlike us men...
   we get the cheaper garden variety
of women, and most are much
older than us...
         plump...
but boy... mandible in beauty as
durable in their appeal...
and, thank god no extra income
from making videos...
             STDs covered...
  they even tell you that they go
for periodical check-ups...
i'm actually more likely to incur an
STD outside of a brothel,
in the dating scene...
            hand on my heart,
scout's honor: ATTENTION, HUT!
and last time i checked?
it's not illegal...
  although...
   yeah... it's illegal to own
a brothel...
you can be self-employed and look...
no taxes...
          the girls are milking it...
and i can relax,
perhaps not even having *******
once a year...
            this definitely has
to be my favorite topic to write
about... because i don't require
an imagination, or graphic,
mundane and oddly enough crass
description interludes of
coupling up with Happy Dicky Goes Big...
or turns big...
whichever...
                *** is only *** on
paper, credible and all...
    but it's a shame that you
can only get an ******* while reading
with such books that...
let's just say a Marquis de Sade book
is beyond what
  a Marquis de Sade book cover
might make a schoolgirl giggle
on the tube with her friends...
      let's not get into how,
or why...
    my favorite citation from de Sade's
biography...
he had a perverted uncle,
a bishop, no less...
  who owned a library of books:
that made you inclined...
    to read...
           with only one hand.
funny, eh?