8 January 2010


Worked out hard
Ate spaghetti and steak dinner
Drank several glasses of wine

Walked the dog on the frozen grass
I feel alright, I said, I feel alright
Could have used another couple
Big glasses of red wine

But I think I will go to bed instead
Does not look like I
Will be getting any tonight

Sonja thinks my fucking is going to kill me
I heard her talking to a girlfriend on the phone,

"Just before he's done I can hear his heart
Pounding like Chuck Biscuits in '79.
Once he has a few too many he can't
Ejaculate as fast as when he only has a few."

I am not dead yet, motherfuckers.
I am still at the plate
Wanting more.


Jon said...

It's probably what keeps you alive. Especially since you don't have a ukulele.

ib said...

Don't sweat it, Beer.

My own fucking these days leaves me gasping like a degenerate pig, to say nothing of accelerated heart rate. My snoring keeps my wife awake and incurs a morning after wrath and little sympathy.

I appear to have acquired irritable bowel syndrome. It has been bothering me for some time. These last several weeks, too, I have noticed an evil black spot between ankle and foot I first wrote off as merely a bruise. It has not faded any.

The damn cigarettes are killing me. And worse, I can't afford to financially maintain the habit. The alcohol sits in my gut like fat in a drain, and head throbs like I've been snorting amyl nitrate.

Relax. You are probably in halfway decent shape.

Mr. Beer N. Hockey said...

Jon - I may not have a ukulele but I do have an ugly stick I like to bang on now and then.

Ibby - I doubt everybody does this when they read your words but I do and I highly recommend it: I read your stuff in Glaswegian. You fuckers really should separate from England.