How the fuck you bin, you fucks?
Happy Hour
Buy One Hour of Misery, Get Another One Free
I suppose when you have that thing called ‘Writer’s chip off the old block’ you need to do something.
Hemmingballs would suggest a stiff drink. But I don’t have that kind of warm luxury pie since I am sober in March, something I deeply regret.
And yet, I have to find other ways to soak the kidney bean of my creativity in the warm water of self-acceptance until I actually write something that doesn’t make me want to hang myself with a hooker’s knickers from the rafters of my local pub known as ‘The Moaning Whore.
So I do this crap that the kids call freewriting which is just writing whatever comes out of the soft grey butter of yer Cranius minimus. It’s not really called freewriting. It’s just called writing for fuck’s sake. All writing comes straight out of ya head and onto the sticky page, ya greasy figlicker.
And it is meant to be the year of le dragon which to this point (End Q1 2024), the annual report of my trauma is stating that this dragon fuck has been shooting fireballs from his oral sphincter into the microscopic walls of my anus since Jan 1 and it’s honestly left me in that pickle jar on the…
