03/17/2005 - 10:22 p.m. | it's not the virus that i dread

i still care about her. i still like her a lot.
but every time i talk to her on the phone,
something tells me i would rather be alone.

Today I listened to Chisel's "8 AM All Day" for the first time. I also painted 2 t-shirts, with designs to paint more in mind. Mostly they are vulgar because I want to blend in with Ducky's frat when we are there tomorrow. Smacko and Shanks were quite drunk all day long and bipolar as such. Shanks was all friendly, yelling a happy St. Patrick's Day to one and all. Smacko was Smacko, flipping off everyone, women and children of all ages, and telling them all to lick his balls. Then they both took a piss on separate engineering buildings. We tried going out to lunch with them. "Just be cool, Smacko, OK?" Shanks was cool; Smacko was most decidedly not. The place started off mostly empty, which meant that Smacko's swears only echoed further. "Guess which of us are drunk!" I asked the waiter. Smacko took a swig out of the sugar container on the table and then drooled most of it out. "This tastes like asshole!" he said, while slurping some water, which he promptly spat back in his glass before drooling and spitting on the floor. This is what 3 bottles of cheap champagne will do to a man. He ate his potato skins like a savage.

What is better than smashing a bottle in the street? Hitting a car with the bottle? Almost. Smashing a bottle filled with urine? Exactly.