It is definitely not the best feeling in the universe, what I have right now. Physically, I am somewhere between constipation and diarrhea. My breath is somewhere between vomit and chewing gum. My appearance is hastily assembled from the remains of a serious trashing. I am only just keeping myself together; I am hanging by the barest thread.
We were merely looking for a good time: watching Seinfeld and nibbling on salted peanuts each day till sunset can only keep me going for so long, and I was yearning for something exciting to occur. Accordingly, we ventured out of the house, aided with a bottle of rum (only the cheapest, nastiest shit), and began approaching people who looked uncomfortable. I took a really huge swig of rum and walked up to a man who appeared to be a public servant of some kind. “Hello sir, could I interest you in some amateur pornography?” He walked away looking like I had freaked him out.
I drank some more rum and went up to an elderly woman with a walking stick. “Hello dear, can I interest you in some very potent morphine?” She said that she was satisfied with her present painkiller prescription cocktail and was in no need of the hope and change that I was able to offer. “How about I renovate your purse?” I made off with $160. I tried this again on another old lady but she caught on to what I was doing and slapped me on the wrist before grabbing her bag back and walking off in a self-important hurry. Some people just know what to look for, I guess.
Another sipsies of rum, and to the teenage boy holding onto a skateboard and sporting a pair of over sized headphones. “Hey bro, wanna buy some bud?” He said yes, so I asked him for ten dollars and walked off. I enjoyed how easy this was, so I attempted it again on a bunch of other kids and then went to another park to find new victims. (By this point I had finished the bottle of rum and sent off my assistant, Bobert Reighnor, to fetch a litre of vodka from the shops.) The children had grown wise to my tricks and had teamed up to reprimand me; a group of them followed me from my previous location, walked up to me and demanded all of their money back or they would fight me as a gang. They weren't even bullshitting.
Now I am looking for some aspirin, or at least some more vodka, because the little fuckers made off with the bottle when I was only half way through. It's days like these that make me wonder why I ever bother getting up in the mornings. Well, the morning usually starts around 2 pm, possibly earlier if we are lucky and I drank a lot of water the night before. Who needs to keep track of things like that, anyway? In this modern era of progress, the wonders of medical advances and technology promise recovery from even the most ridiculous, short-sighted mistakes and wasteful behaviour. So, have I learned a valuable lesson to not approach random strangers with malicious intent? I'll get back to you after I finish verifying the factual authenticity of these horoscopes I came across in the paper, but the prognosis is looking excellent.
