A post to me

and why not, we are the last Tuesday, nay Wednesday by my watch before the apocalypse, and as I have emptied my bladder and replenished my glass, why should I not continue to write.... Hold the phone, Concious is trying to get a word in edgewise whilst we bray - Concious says the vodka has made us nimble but prone to atrociosous spelling and grammatical errors (oooh, totally caught self in the act of writing nibble instead of nimble, have not smoked any pot, do not have requisite case of munchies)

Conscious is bleeting again, it's a plaintative yowl. She would like me to inform you that that she is WAISTING her time at her dead end job, she woulld like me to inform you that while she may or may not be having casual (CENSORED..... CENSORED) and while she thought she had the capacity to spill her guts for an hour or so, it turms out that Conscious, oblivious to the conspicuous amounts of vodka, or perhaps because of the vodka, is needling me to put my sorry ass to bed.

and I would like to say, two weeks out from the apocaplyse, vodak befuckingdamnned, if I am drunk, and I am, on a Tuesday night it is simply because I support Kerry, and I am waiting with bated breath for the Fuckwits to trot out their October suprise.. I was going to write would that I were Courtney Love, middle fingers blazing for the entire world to suckle. i