by Stephen Walter Leblanc

Created on: May 13, 2008

Wow! I'm really wasted it's the middle of the night and I've just tied one on the end of my nose. Ya it grows... just like Pinocchio's. I'm half asleep and I think I'm minus one dog. The bitch never came home but I think I know where she is. A friend was over for a beer and it turned into a dozen between us, plus pretty well all of my smoke and cigs too. That's the way it goes once you get going eh? Well at least for me and my Bud. We'z always kidding and stuff so I brought out this jar of homeshine and we had a few sips. That's when I realized the bitch was gone and not coming back. So we drank her share too.

I was gonna play the guitar and sing live on BlogTV but I changed my mind after the second beer. Instead we talked about life, the meaning of it all. French kings and literary giants. It all made sense then but now I can't remember wtf was said when it's time to write. Although it's gotta be what we usually rant on about; politics and women.

I must be one hell of a richass to afford all this refreshment, last week I cashed in 10$ worth of bottles at MAXI. I've never been over to his house and I don't really care to go. I'd rather stick home. At my place it would be nice if everyone left 2 bucks a beer in the box, but then some would say that Solo's running a blind pig from his house.

We're already in enough trouble with BossHog as it is. We ain't drinking and driving, heez just wanna be cycling home. The worst thing would be maybe you'd fall off the bike and into the ditch. But riding a bike is supposed to be something you never gonna forget, you know you ain't seen nothing yet. I guess my buddy made it home I never heard no more.

The irony of all this writing while inebriated is that you get to remember the digitalized word whereas ordinarily you wouldn't recall anything that came out of the alcoholic haze. That's the magic of the computer typed out word you can actually be productive under the influence like my hero Hemmingway, emerging from the fog in the true Stephen King style. Mystery and fear takes hold of the moment and I can still see the shadow of Louys riding his bike over the hill. I recall turning the outside light off to howl at the crescent moon. It was dark enough to count stars no cloud. Not too loud as to disturb the neighbors... Roxy! C'mon home! Roxanne I'm a gonna turn off the red light..

The male mutts wouldn't miss a night on Daddy's bed but it seems like the bitch can take it or leave it.

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