Hello fellow insomniacs.
It is currently a little past midnight where I live, and instead of sleeping, I decided that it is healthier for my body to blog instead. Yes, I’m sure my immune system, blood pressure, and brain is loving this.
I haven’t done this in a while because I’ve been quite busy (i.e. LAZY) so I may be a little bit rusty. In fact, I think I’ve forgotten how to even go about this art of “blogging.” Do I post a naked picture? Do I go on a racist rant? Do I try to make cool figures using punctuation?
It’s a house. With no roof. Um, there was a hurricane. It’s commentary on the government’s slow reaction to Katrina.
What am I even saying? Are you still reading this? Why? I can point you to 50 other websites where you’ll be more entertained.
And there’s always porn.
With this state of writer’s block, I think it is useless for me to try and think of a coherent topic to go on about. I’ll just end up making no sense and regretting every word in the morning.
Oh my gosh. This must be what being drunk is like. And the tomorrow morning (today’s morning?) must be the hangover. With less vomit. With no vomit, I mean.
There might be vomit, who knows what’s up with this body of mine.
I’ve never understood the concept of hangovers.
No, let me rephrase, I’ve never understood the concept of people drinking themselves into a hazy oblivion for a night they won’t remember but will have to pay the consequences for. What is the benefit of downing 20 vodka shots (is that a normal amount of consumption?) so that you can loosen up, act like a idiot for a couple hours, and then wake up realizing you sent out a couple noteworthy snapchats.
*This is the part of the blog where I would google a picture of a drunk snapchat and post it onto my blog. Quite frankly, I don’t feel like it right now. If you’re looking for a cheap laugh, go do it yourself.*
Your body literally tells you not to do that by sending fluid gushing out of your mouth and/or anus while giving you the sensation that a brick just slammed into your temple. And for some reason, people with hangovers can’t eat. Everything that goes into their mouths tastes gross.
Sucks for you. I’m eating a tasty muffin.
Yes, I did find the time to google a picture of a muffin. I’m starving.
So… what’s the appeal?
Maybe I’m just being a prude. I’m sure the minute I taste the stinging burn of alcohol, I’ll throw caution to the wind and drink until the floor looks like an ocean of unicorns.
Wait, I think that’s what LSD does. Maybe I’ll do that instead. Isn’t that what The Beatles were on when they wrote Sgt. Pepper? Or was that just John Lennon?
An ocean of unicorns. Stop for a minute and think of how awesome that would be. AN OCEAN OF UNICORNS. Not like unicorns stacked on top of each other in a huge pool or orgy but an ocean with a crapload of unicorns. Like imagine that instead of fishes, we had unicorns instead. Not seahorses. They’re just posers.
I think I’ve gone on too long. If you followed me up until this point, you might as well click the button and follow my entire blog. Clearly, you have a lot of time to waste, and I am more than happy to support you in doing so.
Your beloved blogger who didn’t bother to proofread this so don’t be judgmental,