Mindless Self Indulgence... not the band
This is deuce the wild speaking, speaking to you. there was no chance in hell that I could possibly dream this up, so i had to share it.
Today... may seventeenth, is my birthday. it's amazing. i became twenty two years old. so i decided that i would celebrate it the way that any good young man should, i got drunk... I indulged, in fact had i ten more dollars to spare i would have kicked things off in perfect style following justin's idol and my new bane... dr. hunter s. thompson. though i do enjoy his writing and his excessive lifestyle, i learned something today...
people would read about thomspon's adventures, his excess and drug use, they will watch a movie where a man does so many halucenogenic (did i spell that rigth, probablly not, don't care) pills and snort enough cocaine to kill a horse. But i have learned that when the same style of indulgence is staring them in the face, the same people would rather expunge it and cower. for fuck sake I went to the electric cowboy to enjoy meself... by the way it's a shitty club that should never be visited, i will divulge on this part later... i only hade 2 shots of Jaegermeister and 3... 2.5 budweisers in less than an hour before they decided that my presence was a bane on their establishment, and i was no longer welcome i was told to leave.
and as i was told to leave i suddenly was left with a paradox. what did they expect me to do?!? they thought i was hammered like a lonely sailor who broke into his captain's secret stash, and i was supposed to do what? drive home? walk home, as if my house was somewhere in the crowded parking lot outside, or the cardboard box out back?! they didn't offer me a cab, they just said they thought i should leave. well I did leave, pissed on their window, and took a small nap in my car dreaming of the wet t-shirt contest and how i'd like to have bludgeoned the winner and claimed her as a wife, before coming home to smash my fingers on a keyboard until satisfied.
it's a sad sad reality, the world isn't ready for a new thompson yet... and i swear that when the opportunity arises, like ... like ... what's his name... old man and the sea... boring old fuck... Heinman? no... Hemmingway!!! that't the man!! like hemmingway and thompson, i promise that i one day will fill the void for a over indulging mad man who rambles on a typewriter until his fingers are sore or until the jack daniels is dry. Now if you don't mind me, i'm going back to my banannanannananna pudding, happy birthday to me.
oh, and i expect to have a full report of my findings on the electric cowboy and why that club should never be visited tomorrow if all of my recordings are auidble... wish i hadn't actually talking into the microphone doing a poor thompson imitation... oh well. drink up me harties, yo ho!!!
Today... may seventeenth, is my birthday. it's amazing. i became twenty two years old. so i decided that i would celebrate it the way that any good young man should, i got drunk... I indulged, in fact had i ten more dollars to spare i would have kicked things off in perfect style following justin's idol and my new bane... dr. hunter s. thompson. though i do enjoy his writing and his excessive lifestyle, i learned something today...
people would read about thomspon's adventures, his excess and drug use, they will watch a movie where a man does so many halucenogenic (did i spell that rigth, probablly not, don't care) pills and snort enough cocaine to kill a horse. But i have learned that when the same style of indulgence is staring them in the face, the same people would rather expunge it and cower. for fuck sake I went to the electric cowboy to enjoy meself... by the way it's a shitty club that should never be visited, i will divulge on this part later... i only hade 2 shots of Jaegermeister and 3... 2.5 budweisers in less than an hour before they decided that my presence was a bane on their establishment, and i was no longer welcome i was told to leave.
and as i was told to leave i suddenly was left with a paradox. what did they expect me to do?!? they thought i was hammered like a lonely sailor who broke into his captain's secret stash, and i was supposed to do what? drive home? walk home, as if my house was somewhere in the crowded parking lot outside, or the cardboard box out back?! they didn't offer me a cab, they just said they thought i should leave. well I did leave, pissed on their window, and took a small nap in my car dreaming of the wet t-shirt contest and how i'd like to have bludgeoned the winner and claimed her as a wife, before coming home to smash my fingers on a keyboard until satisfied.
it's a sad sad reality, the world isn't ready for a new thompson yet... and i swear that when the opportunity arises, like ... like ... what's his name... old man and the sea... boring old fuck... Heinman? no... Hemmingway!!! that't the man!! like hemmingway and thompson, i promise that i one day will fill the void for a over indulging mad man who rambles on a typewriter until his fingers are sore or until the jack daniels is dry. Now if you don't mind me, i'm going back to my banannanannananna pudding, happy birthday to me.
oh, and i expect to have a full report of my findings on the electric cowboy and why that club should never be visited tomorrow if all of my recordings are auidble... wish i hadn't actually talking into the microphone doing a poor thompson imitation... oh well. drink up me harties, yo ho!!!