Sunday, October 17, 2004

Uh Oh

I feel horrible, dear readers. Last night, depressed, lonely, and irritable I decided to put a wad of money in my right front pocket, my keys in my left, and walk down to the bar to get loaded. This morning I woke up, not feeling nearly as bad as I should have, considering my memory was foggy at best. I was covered in vomit, and so was my sink, but my little bottle of leftover painkillers from the time I got hit by a car (another, later entry) was missing quite a few. I also stank of cigarettes, and I don't smoke. So I figure after drinking my ass off, making my way home, vomiting up a storm, I sucked down some prescription drugs and managed to get a good night's sleep. The bad part is, now I have a bicycle in my apartment. A really nice one, by the looks of it. It's got fancy gearshifters, sponsorship stickers (!), a speedometer, all manner of doo dads mounted to it, and generally looks really expensive. As one long haired jerk off (check the archives) can attest, I don't like bicycles (particularly those assholes that zip around on those reclining ones with the windshield - hey asshole, the bicycle's design hasn't changed for a century because it's basically perfect - what makes you so goddamned special that you require one of those?), despise self righteous bicycle enthusiast culture, and refuse to own one.

I don't think I could have overpowered a cyclist (who would be cruising around in the middle of a saturday night?) and ridden away on his bike if I was so drunk I can't remember even leaving the bar (and why do you get odd looks if you go to a bar by yourself?), I don't see how I could have ridden one home without some tell-tale bruises from the spills I would inevitably receive, and this goddamned bike is so fancy looking that I can't imagine someone not locking it up. It's a head scratcher.

So, uh, I guess I'm going to keep it, maybe give it to a neighbor or something.

Now I'm going to go and eat some fried food.

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