My life has not changed at all. As in the last ten years, it is blessed by the stars and eschewed by the men. Be not afraid if time passes and there is no word from me, be not anxious by the tram-station nor blue when you're playing, because I have taken my destiny in my own hands. I have thought in light-years and I have suffered in seconds.
Because the first one wasn't bad enough!! (also in terms of the writing it produced here on this blog... if I haven't lost fifteen readers after this, I don't know what will get you off).
I'm actually halfway through doing it as I write. I woke up this morning and I decided I'd rather do another round, this time going properly with the beer. We've had a couple of joints so far and we discovered that the bierstick also doubles up wonderfully as a rudimentary bong. Currently we are trying to manufacture another bong out of a can of Pringles. We've found out how to do this through the use of youtube, but the practicalities are something a little different. We've also had a quick foray at the cornershop to replenish the supply of pringles and chocolate. It is now 17:16.
17:38 -- The Pringle bong is now operative and effective. But it kicks on the lungs like a mule, and is perhaps best not used. I'm not sure what we're doing now. I've been lost for some time reading George Orwell's essay Politics and the English Language, which is brilliant. I think some film is starting. Or a game. Or whatever the fuck.
17:40 -- The mystery is solved, it's the game 007 Blood Stone for the Xbox. Martin is laughing on his own for some reason. Pints! Pints are going round! I'm only the one who doesn't have litre-size one, boo.
18:01 -- Oook!! Fred wanted to down his litre-pint and he insisted that I film it with his camera. This goes back to a number of challenges between us which I can't resume right now. So I film it and take the piss out of him a little, then he starts downing and it goes down like a bullet. I sit there a little baffled at the sight of one litre going down in a handful of seconds, then I film him as he puts the pint down and collapses back onto the sofa. I film him for a little longer, then, to my immortal regret, switch off the recording button. Barely two seconds after that, he yelps "I feel sick! This isn't funny!" and he's barely in time to cover with his hands the jet of vomit that is coming vertically from his throat. There's a stunned moment of silence after that, then he leaps. The funny thing is that he doesn't even try to get to the bathroom, he just lunges for the terrace with Martin screaming after him "NO FRED MY LAUNDRY'S ON THERE NO" and then he jumps for the bucket. Martin is still trying to get him out of there so Fred explodes into the house again just when I'm getting up and I'm rolled over like a hedgehog. My beer goes flying somewhere in whatever direction after it comes in contact with my foot. It did take a while to clean up.
Using more beer was a jolly notion.
19:29 -- Walked around 15 minutes asking where the bottleopener was and they turned out to be screw-cap beers. I've just given a try to that smoke-beer-shot combination and that's pretty heavy. We're watching The Hangover now, which is awright.
19:56 -- Seriously, read this, it's brilliant: http://www.george-orwell.org/Politics_and_the_English_Language/0.html These pringle bongs are killing us. We haven't even done a normal joint in so long. It's all bongs and tulips now. As I write these lines I swear I just passed one of the bongs to Fred and Martin has just lit up the next tulip. It's taking me half an hour for each sentence because I keep making these dumb fuck grammar mistakes. My head is spinning, going down, going down...
19:58 -- Look at the size of that fucking tulip. Look at the fucking size of that tulip.
20:00 -- Where art thou, Mephistopheles? I have seen the face of God, and tasted the immortal joys of heaven.
20:10 -- Things have gone quite blurry, Over here. Don't think I can report clearly anymore. Communication is reduced to elementals.
20:13 -- I'm so stoned I can't even remember what I was supposed to write here ten minutes ago. Actually writing much later than 2013
22:02 -- it is now past ten. I don't really know what to write. The centre of the toilet bowl's circle is a centre of gravity. Stars and planets spin around it. Some crazy fucker is suggesting to watch Schindler's List. I refuse that categorically.
23:24 -- I can't. It's late. We're wondering what movie to watch next. I am stoooooned.
23:26 -- Fred is snoring like a caveman who happens to be sleeping during an asteroid collision.
01:14 -- I guess we're shutting down the house now. Martin's falling away like a leaf in wind. I'm going to stay awake a little perhaps, on the internet, then get to sleep.
01:19 -- By the way, we watched Toy Story 3 and I couldn't stop the tears flowing.