When you're drunk, things are quick and surreal -- like a green Mario Bros. pipe. Shit happens in a flash and whatever you remember in the morning is a greeting card memento. The beauty of drunkenness lies in the black person, take-me-as-I-am mentality. You say what you want, or what your dick whispers in your ear, and you don't give a fuck. You're playing the percentages with that slurred honesty that pours from your mouth. If you tell ten girls they're amazing and one girl swoons then you may as well be featured on the back of a Smirnoff bottle, because you are a fucking success story. It's always a hundred percent when your vision is blurred and your tongue is retarded.
Good night.
3 comments:
Guys, I love blogging, but it is some dangerous shit. I would love to pour my heart out to you, but it's tough explaining this online journal to a girl you're trying to date, especially when you're as crude and honest as I am. I don't mind sharing and telling and gossiping like a motherfucker. At all. But I have to hide this shit from certain people because I don't want to scare them away. It is FUCKING HELL convincing a sweetheart that I'm a great guy once she has access to the dark side of my brain that is manifested in this sans-serif text. I have a life too and nothing sucks worse than hitting it off with a girl that likes to read who becomes aware of this URL.
I understand but you need to stop telling your hoes about this address and then you can post freely.
But I am grateful for every tid bit. This shit always makes me smile/laugh.
Oh, I don't tell. But they dig. They pry.
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