Here I sit with a glass of Belvedere vodka, just opened and already half gone, in my hand; drops of drool slide down my open mouth, the keyboard swimming in a sea of refracted light and unfocused lettering, as I hunt out the Latin symbols and collect my thoughts from behind the haze. I slip and momentarily slide off my computer chair; its cushion, by now, well formed by my buttocks into a perfect mould. I recover, giggling aimlessly at the absurdity of the situation, as I seek out the thread of my last thought. I fail, and tumble into another tangent, casting off into a different crevice of consciousness, its verbs and nouns leading me into unexplored territories and shadowy lands. The colors bewilder me. They look real but their brightness seems artificial. I surface, once more, and grab onto my last sentence, typing it quickly before I submerge again. The words come effortlessly, lubricated by a new gulp, but I fail to find a reason for them. The entire thing is ridiculous, an exercise in insistence. I raise my glass again, forgetting what it was. Then I swallow and the liquid slips behind my cottony tongue as if it were tasteless water burning its way into a lava pit. I breathe and it sounds forced. Then I breathe again. Reality mingles with my fantasies and forms mixtures on a painters brush. The vomit comes unexpectedly, gushing upwards as my body expels the poison I’ve pickled it with. It splatters across the screen, creating new phrases and some of it drips down my chest soiling my underwear. “Shit!” I gasp raising myself to make a run for the bathroom. Then I settle down again, realizing its too late. I click and click again. There, one more new post on my favourite internet Forum. Isn’t alcohol wonderful?
You said earlier you were drinking port. I suspect that you're not drinking at all. Maybe some green tea.
Are you some kind of voyeur? If you want to tumble in the sheets with her, do your own dirty work. I’m drunk.
I leave you now to this intellectual den. I’m expecting a thread on Hamburger fights, the next time I drop by again. Right now ….I…. uh…. have to……. puke……
I think you are exaggerating your condition, Satyr. Your grammar, spelling and lack of typos suggest that you are too well-co-ordinated to be drunk.
Anyone can be co-ordinated when they're drunk. It merely takes effort, and it takes a little more time to post something depending on how drunk they are, and how much experience they've had with it. Dismissing anything a person says "because they're drunk" is about the same as dismissing a christian because he's a christian. Some predjudices are acceptable and some are not.
However people tend to be unconcerned about such matters when they are drunk, on top of the natural disadvantages. Not at all. they may be sober and think reasonably tomorrow if they're drunk. there's no reason to think a christian will stop being a chrisitan though. A ratehr prejudiced view, surely? Some of us aren't co-ordinated too well when we're sober.
I've known a few alcoholics and one of them could do everything perfectly while being completly drunk. He had his addiction down to a science and could fool anyone, anytime. Alcolhol isn't a very easy drug to stop taking for everywhere you go alcohol is available to drink today. Alcoholics are very sad people for they only fool themselves into believing that they need to drink in order to create, communicate and be the life of the party. They need help and many times never accept the fact they are addicted.
Isn't it wonderful to travel far into the deepest recesses of Cosmic's mind, and there, at the core, is a naked and earnest Dr Phil. Thersites. "A ratehr prejudiced view, surely?" ... yes. I think the vodka is getting tom e. My dictin is suferng and i cant speel anymo.
Great job, Satyr. I really enjoyed reading that. The next thread should be entitled, "The joys of homosexuality and alchoholism". "Here I sit with a young boy, just stripped and already half naked, in my hands; drops of drool slide down my open mouth, the world swimming in a sea of pleasure, as I hunt out the young boy's cock. I slip and momentarily slide off my fuck-pad; its cushion, by now, well formed by my buttocks into a perfect mould. I recover, giggling aimlessly at the absurdity of the situation, as I seek out the anal cavity. I fail, and tumble into another tangent, casting off into a different crevice of the male anatomy, its nooks and crannies leading me into unexplored territories and shadowy lands. I raise my mouth again. Then I swallow and the jism slips behind my cottony tongue as if it were tasteless water burning its way into a lava pit. I moan and it sounds forced. Then I moan again. Reality mingles with my fantasies and forms mixtures on a painters brush. The jism comes unexpectedly, gushing upwards as my body expels it's man gravy. It splatters across the screen, creating new phrases and some of it drips down my chest soiling my underwear. “ohh!” I gasp raising myself to make a run for the bathroom. Then I settle down again, realizing its too late. I fuck and fuck again. There, one more new post on my favourite internet Forum. Isn’t gay sex wonderful?
I think everyone has his own expertise to contribute. I have my alcoholism to draw wisdom from and Bob has his homosexual urges.
Indeed. But it feels good to at least have the internet where there are plenty of thoughtful netizens happy to read my drivel and secret urges.
