Bourré. Un peu.
Just drunk enough to feel like writing in english.To prove to myself I'm able to. Stupid.
Just left friends at the bar. And breasts. Beautiful round ones. Said if they told me the moon I'd draw was ugly, I'd leave. Left.
Gone.
Walking. Trying not to lose my drunkenness. Seems I managed. Still speaking in english. I walked head down, trying not to close my eyes, in order not to get sober. Not get wind on my eyeballs. Would awaken me. Head still spinning, I like that. One pint, two bloody Maries. Woo-hoo.
Still able to go away when I say so. Stupid. But I won't stay just because of breasts. Younger than my little sister. I have principles. And alcohol in my blood. Pulsing in my brain vessels. And in my bladder.
Waw, I remembered bladder. Alcohol is good for tongues. Alone in my house, TV off, even though France is playing against Australia. Rugby. NZL beat WAL. In the pub. Said « cheers ! » to guy and girl next table. Because they said it before. Not fraternizing with the enemy. Good patriot.
Why go away when I'm with nice people ? Even drunk ones (fours ?) ? Because of daiquiris and bloody maries and beers and screaming orgasms (same jokes as last time, and the times before that. Plenty of good jokes about screaming orgasms. Well, jokes) ?
Dunno.
Guess I wanted to leave. Without reasons. Best way to leave, without saying goodbyes to friends and breasts.
Speaking english is nice when drunk. Did it once before. When one of my colleagues told me about his testicles cancer while serving me vodka and rosé and noodles. Vomited noodles out the window. Once in my life, daddy, don't look surprised. It was his fault. Happily a friend of mine accepted to talk with me while I walked back to my place, not far to the train station, the dealers and the hookers. Thanks again, Grnx. I told friends about that a lot, when I'm a bit drunk. I have a tendancy to repeat myself, and tell a lot of garbage, when I'm drunk. Which is NOT often, daddy. By the way, I love you. No Oedipe there, just say so in order to annoy you. Hope it will work.
Got back home still drunk. Won't work on my chinese tonight. Bah.
There is still internet. And rugby. Don't want to puke. But still got the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain on my mind. Cecile's and Mélina's fault. Go to hell. I am going to have a ham sandwich. With cheese. Even though I already got two hot-dogs with mustard and onions. Don't care. If i'm fat. It's my fate. Huhu, fat fate. Can't go against fate. Would be immoral. Bye. Kisses. Arm, elbow, knee.
