Sunday, December 30, 2012
Early this Sunday morning while praying to the porcelin god in the lr Peabody hotel room, I had a hangover moment of clarity. I can't hang with you real drinkers, you know who you are. I shouldnt try or pretend to hang, I dont know what it is about these hooligans that turns every event into a high school drinking game. A game that I am the worst@ , kind of like Halo, but it's so much fun just playing the game I don't care. Some small vermin is scratching the front door, I can hear it breathing. The peabody has rats , big rats, rats that have been marinating in mutagine ooze from Dimension X. When we all checked out, we looked like party veterans. I feel like Hunter S. Thompson hit me with a "Shithammer", but I still look good. I walked through the lobby with two back packs , a large stuffed trash bag, and half a case of lite beer. A prudish conservative family was waiting for their vehicle. The Romney clone father frowned at me but I made his daughter blush and smile,i still got it. I just found the wedding beer coozie that was at the reception, what an awesome souvenir, a giftthatkeeps giving , right now its protectingmy han ds from this ice cold stella.