What were the last words I wrote to you in this section of the site?
…I am totally going to a wedding in bloody Grimsby tomorrow, so I shall try very hard not to go apeshit on whiskey and flee alone into the night like a greased piglet shot out of a cannon. It shouldn’t be too hard, as I have matured an awful lot this past year thank you.
Yeah. Well. I DIDN’T go apeshit on whiskey at all. Because they didn’t have any whiskey. But they DID have a flipping GALACTEAN HORDE of BEER, and you know I don’t normally fux with beer too hard. So. Yeah. I totally drank beer for 12 hours, from 5pm till 5am, then I went to bed, and when I got up at 10 or whatever I guess I was still pissed, because the hangover didn’t really start kicking me in the head and the stomach with like, real, supervillainous ferocity until we were half way home and racing down the M1, which is a motorway, if you don’t know, and the nausea I’d been feeling all day cranked itself up into the terrible realms of super-turbo-ultra-nausea and I projectile vomited out the window with a great and thunderous force for about 3 minutes, scattering three lanes of traffic behind us like the proverbial Lolcat Amongst The Pigeons and covering the whole left side of the car with BILE.
Never again, etc.
“How old are you?” sighed my Dear Mother, disapprovingly, which was a silly question as she knows full well how old I am (30), and I’ve never heard of people suddenly becoming immune to booze once they flee their twenties. My experience points to the opposite – I rarely used to get sick on booze, not since I was a teenager and I got good at taking shots, and certainly not from hangovers. But that is the trick life plays on a man – you just get to the point where you figure you understand yourself a bit, you get some mastery of yourself, then suddenly your body decides its time to thwart, that it is going to revolt, and you spend the rest of your life in a toilet-esque downward spiral of physical collapse. Whoever said their body was a temple drank different water to me, that’s for certain. My body is like one of those cheap-ass mosques they have next door to the “Perfect Fried Chicken” shops in decrepit Northern Towns.
But I am trying, dear reader! Yesterday Jeres and I were dismayed to arrive at the gym at 6pm and find it shut, because of the Banking Holidays, but neither of us breathed a secret sigh of relief and buggered off to the chippy. Nay, we took ourselves of to Finsbury Park, and ran around a portion of it in a circle, to one of these Great Outdoor Gym things, which are fucking hilarious and I recommend to all. The machines are not like traditional gym machines – they’re based around lifting your body wight via pulleys and things, and the experience is basically like being a 5 year old in a jungle gym. I spent a good ten minutes straight laughing my ass off – at Jeres and a 4 year old girl on a wiggly hip-machine, and myself on some weird pulley-see-saw with my little legs swinging in the air, mostly – and you know what they say about laughter being some dope-ass medicine. I am happy to confirm that shit is TRUTH. I felt fucking great afterwards. Then that rotten bastard Jeres made me run back around the park. I’d never run around a park. Shit is way harder than treadmills. They gots hills in parks, for a start. By the end I thought my eyeballs were going to pop out and trip me over or something. I felt like I’d done late-nineties level ecstasy. I collapsed on the grass and shrieked my amazement.
Today I have been working my ass off, which is my new thing – I am raising money to pay for my album campaign. Pluggers, press officers, that shit is expense, and it’s gotta come from somewhere. So I am utilising the skills I have amassed – illustration, design, video editing, html, all that good stuff, to make me some substantial DOUGH, and I am gonna use that DOUGH to get my amazing album some SHINE, cos there is no way I have out in all this fucking work for the thing to pop out noticed while a great wet shower of dickless frauds hog the top 10. Ufck that in the eye with a cotdang batarang, thanks very much. Ole!
Oh, speaking of which, there’s brand new Oddfuture awesomeness in the Blob Blog, go check that shit out, you might like it. Right now it’s time for me to put my music hat back on, and vocal some ATD25 dope. See you on the Doncast tomorrow, brothers and sisters.