Oh god, sometimes when I am alone I listen to the Lambada as loud as fucking possible and remind myself that I am truly a fucking loser. How amazing is that? Fucking amazing. I spent the evening watching shows I need to fucking review, but I am completely not in the mood to review them. Probably because I am still lagging from my master hangover. Jesus, WHERE DO YOU HAVE TO GO DRINKING SO THAT A STRANGER WILL BE LIKE, LADY YOU ARE FUCKING PISSED OUT OF YOUR MIND--HOW ABOUT YOU PUT ONE OF YOUR THREE DRINKS DOWN! Cause I would happily put that drink down all over his/her head.

After a night of heavy drinking I am like a fucking detective. I am not sure any of you other homos are like this, but I can wake up anywhere or even scarier I can wakeup in my own bed. Than I really have to be like HOW IN THE MOTHER FUCK DID I GET HERE? Then I have to be like what did I do and where did I go? Usually the quickest way to figure that stuff out is to check out what is going on with my shit after I take a giant dump that probably smells like vodka or whiskey. On particularly treacherous drinking binges it can smell like both. Then you really have to check out what is going on in there. USE YOUR SENSES. I mean, the texture of the poop can have a lot to do with why you are fucking dying on the inside. A good drunk shit is worth it's weight in gold. GET THAT POISON OUT. At any rate, I always find myself checking out what is going on in my poop so I can know what the fuck I ate. One of the things I notice when I get super wasted and am hyper-hungover the next day is how a lot of the food isn't even chewed. This means I probably got drunk like all hell and turned into a fucking gremlin and knocked shit over and shouldn't have been drinking or eating after midnight and when I decided to anyways all hell broke loose. Later on, it breaks loose in the fucking toilet. Oh lord, I am Captain Sabrina--Shit Inspector. I guess I will go back to writing my reviews now.