The Trouble with Beer

Is that it makes you fall out of the bed in the night. Twice. Because you’re in someone elses guest room and have forgotten that that is the case. It also means that, though I am sat in the shop with no human company I am by no means alone. Oh no. I’m in a haze of beer gas. Yes, I’m tasteful. Like a hot chocolate.

Pepsi was originally invented as a cure for peptic ulcers, hence the name. I only mention that as I’m drinking some right now- I consider it a luxurious trat, as I rarely drink fizzy pop. I’m far too healthy and sophisticated for such things- that’s why I stick to sipping good, old fashioned, healthy beer. I need to get some more alcohol down my neck really- I hardly drink these days- it’s doing me good I suppose as I’m losing some of my beer gut, though that may also be attributed to being too poverty stricken to buy food and suchlike. Even my Pokemon card buying has slowed… it’s a hard life.

Also this week I have been busy at work, doing much in the way of sitting, standing, slouching and advanced slumping techniques. I am now a black belt third dan in sofa usage. On the plus side I should be going home next weekend to see mummy for Mothering Sunday, so I should earn my self some brownie points for spending £70 to go and see her. I’ll starve for another month, but at least mummy gets to see her special soldier. And me. But not my special soldier- that would be too kinky even for me. Just…

What to write… umm…. I have no idea. That’s the problem with leading a life of vacuous purity- you don’t get to do anything. Hopefully by next week I’ll be off my mash on ecstasy pipes or something- I could go home and tell mummy I’m a psycho-biker-junky-whore. The sad thing is I don’t think she’d be surprised. The worse thing is that I probably wouldn’t either. You’ll probably be watching th news on Thursday evening when:

Newsreader: Riots started in Walton-On-The-Naze today when a local psycho-biker-junky-whore was spotted sexually assaulting a swan before eating it’s left eyelashes for erotic purposes. Sir Footspar Montague-Crackbang reports.

Sir Footspar Montague-Crackbang:Yes, the seen here is incredibly ugly. The Oxley builders and funeral services office is ablaze- there are wheelbarrows and coffins everywhere. Pensioners are sacking the Co-op for pop socks, milk and a tin of meat for the cat, and a group of local youths is stood in the village square shouting vague insults at passers by. These were innocent enough at first, such as ‘nob’ and ‘arsecandle’, but have now become dangerously surreal. One of the boys was spotting muttering ‘Time, it is unravelling as the kitten of doubt claws at my mind. Are you here about the croutons brave sir?’ to a party of local school children. The police are considering the use of rubber nuclear missiles to disperse the crowd. But where is this heinous criminal? Why did her carry out this crime? These are the questions on most citizens lips. This is Sir Footspar Montague-Crackbang for BBc news

Newsreader: Harrowing scenes there from Walton-On-The-Naze. The public are being asked to keep an eye open for this criminal who is unarmed and extremely useless. He is thought to be 15 feet tall with the hair of an abused afghan hound, the staggering gait of a leperous hippo and a face covered in strange stubble and unfortunate blemishes. A depraved artists rendering of this horrendous beast follows this report

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