I've had a triple bloody mary, three beers, and the last beer is getting mighty fucking nervous at this point. For those who haven't kept up, I'm on day four of being cooped up in my house. The weather has been relentless in its snow dumping/car burying. I haven't shaved in days. I may just finish growing a beard. It's itchy though. It's like I've got a wool sweater pushed against my face. A sexy wool sweater.
No, seriously, it's hideous.
I've even lost the will to jerk off, which I didn't think would happen until seconds before my imminent death. This has not boded well for my mental health.
I played Grand Theft Auto IV tonight. I'm not a gamer, unfortunately. What you've got is a guy that merely steals cars and starts fights with random people. So, I'm pretty much playing a video game that illustrates a Russian version of me, when I'm drunk.
Which would be right the fuck now. I should carjack a car with chains. It's easy... I've carjacked 30-something cars on a video game tonight alone. I think I'm ready for the majors!
Why is the "Little House on the Prairie" theme song stuck in my head. I need an excorcism.
Or another drink.
Coming... Up!
Gooch...Out!
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