Self-Loathing: You happy about being hungover?
Me: Shut up.
Self-Loathing: I mean, you did it to yourself.
Me: Shut. Up.
Self-Loathing: And he certainly didn't help.
Budding Alcoholism: I can taste my feet.
Me: I said shut the hell up!
Ego: Not so loud...
Reflection: Oh God, 7:15 AM...
Self-Loathing: Oh that was the best! Waking up, cursing yourself and the world and your fragile body. Room spinning and tilting like a damn acid trip. Threatening to become a vegan to punish your body if it didn't technically put you into a medical coma. Good times.
Ego: I get it, thanks.
Self-Loathing: So do you have anything to say for yourself?
Me:...it was fun.
Showing posts with label Hungover. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hungover. Show all posts
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
The First Of Sure To Be Many Hungover To Varying Degrees Posts
Me: I think that may have been one too many glasses of wine last night.
Budding Alcoholism: Or one too just right many glasses!
Self-Loathing: And now you're hungover and fatter. Good show.
Ego: Actually, we lost weight. Three pounds worth.
Realism: And we're not all that hungover either.
Relief: To be honest, we're actually feeling pretty good, minor queasy feeling notwithstanding.
Self-Loathing: ...way to ruin my fun, guys. Way to go.
Naivete: Thanks!
Me: Plus, with even the minor effects of the hangover, Libido seems to have waned like an old man.
Libido: You wish. I'm going to make sure you stay harder than astrophysics to a dyslexic.
Inner Child: What does that mean?
Me: Just...never you mind.
Work Ethic: You know, you DO have that article that you need to work on. Like...actually work on since it will be paid.
Pragmatism: That will get top priority as soon as we have the contract signed and turned in. We're not going to work not under contract.
Work Ethic: That is the most...perfectly reasonable thing I've heard in a while, actually.
Me: Wait, what? What just happened?
Paranoia: You said something not using hyperbole! The feds are after us now!
OCD: THEY DON'T EVEN WASH THEIR TORTURE IMPLEMENTS AFTER KILLING! THEY LEAVE THE OLD BLOOD ON! AS A WARNING TO THOSE WHO WILL COME NEXT!
Anxiety: You know, you probably need medication for him.
Me: I probably need medication for a lot of things.
Latent Psychopathy: God, it's been too long since I've taken a bath in blood.
Me: Case in point.
Libido: You don't need medication for me!
Me: If I want to get rid of you, I do.
Pervert: Self-cuckolding. Kinky.
Writer: I suppose that would make you some sort of Shakespearean character. You could do worse, I guess.
Pedantry: Technically he would need to be dating someone and watch her having sex with another to be a cuckold. You're thinking more self-denial which is in fact a sexual fetish.
Inner Child: Feet-ish?
Me: Fet. FETish.
Inner Child: Boba...? Boba! WE CAN BE BOBA FETT?!
Me: What? No. If anything, we'd be more like Dog.
Inner Child: WE CAN BE A DOG TOO?! EXCITED!
Pervert: Well, less actual dog-etry and more dog-style, but probably.
Self-Loathing: Are you delusional?
Self-Delusion: Someone call me?
Zombie Romanticism: Blarrrrrrrgh.
Me: He's a lot more fun to be around now that he's dead.
Anxiety: Until he chomps into your nerve center in your brain that controls emotions.
Me: Hrm. Well...nope. Still more fun to be around.
Kleptomania: You know what we should do?
Me/Anxiety/Paranoia: Oh no.
Kleptomania: We should rob a bank!
Reckless Endangerment/Internal Sadism: YES!
Internal Sadism: This guy! This guy knows the score!
Sports Freak: What score? Which game? Are we missing a game?
Me: We're not robbing a bank.
Pragmatism: Fiscally, it might not be that bad an idea.
Me: Don't you start in on this.
Pragmatism: I'm just sayin'.
Paranoia: Now you've done it. Now you've done it. I bet right now we're getting the attention of every CIA agent in the state of Tennessee.
Me: CIA. In Tennessee. Why don't you just chill for a minute there, Paranoia?
Paranoia: AND BY CHILL YOU MEAN FREEZE IN AN ICE-COLD PRISON CELL IN MARYLAND!
Me: No. By chill I mean lay off the caffeine.
Gluttony: Bro, we haven't had much caf since the OD incident.
Internal Sadism: That was wicked.
Me: *sigh* And so it goes.
Music Lover: And so will you soon, I suppose!
Self-Loathing: Probably.
Budding Alcoholism: Or one too just right many glasses!
Self-Loathing: And now you're hungover and fatter. Good show.
Ego: Actually, we lost weight. Three pounds worth.
Realism: And we're not all that hungover either.
Relief: To be honest, we're actually feeling pretty good, minor queasy feeling notwithstanding.
Self-Loathing: ...way to ruin my fun, guys. Way to go.
Naivete: Thanks!
Me: Plus, with even the minor effects of the hangover, Libido seems to have waned like an old man.
Libido: You wish. I'm going to make sure you stay harder than astrophysics to a dyslexic.
Inner Child: What does that mean?
Me: Just...never you mind.
Work Ethic: You know, you DO have that article that you need to work on. Like...actually work on since it will be paid.
Pragmatism: That will get top priority as soon as we have the contract signed and turned in. We're not going to work not under contract.
Work Ethic: That is the most...perfectly reasonable thing I've heard in a while, actually.
Me: Wait, what? What just happened?
Paranoia: You said something not using hyperbole! The feds are after us now!
OCD: THEY DON'T EVEN WASH THEIR TORTURE IMPLEMENTS AFTER KILLING! THEY LEAVE THE OLD BLOOD ON! AS A WARNING TO THOSE WHO WILL COME NEXT!
Anxiety: You know, you probably need medication for him.
Me: I probably need medication for a lot of things.
Latent Psychopathy: God, it's been too long since I've taken a bath in blood.
Me: Case in point.
Libido: You don't need medication for me!
Me: If I want to get rid of you, I do.
Pervert: Self-cuckolding. Kinky.
Writer: I suppose that would make you some sort of Shakespearean character. You could do worse, I guess.
Pedantry: Technically he would need to be dating someone and watch her having sex with another to be a cuckold. You're thinking more self-denial which is in fact a sexual fetish.
Inner Child: Feet-ish?
Me: Fet. FETish.
Inner Child: Boba...? Boba! WE CAN BE BOBA FETT?!
Me: What? No. If anything, we'd be more like Dog.
Inner Child: WE CAN BE A DOG TOO?! EXCITED!
Pervert: Well, less actual dog-etry and more dog-style, but probably.
Self-Loathing: Are you delusional?
Self-Delusion: Someone call me?
Zombie Romanticism: Blarrrrrrrgh.
Me: He's a lot more fun to be around now that he's dead.
Anxiety: Until he chomps into your nerve center in your brain that controls emotions.
Me: Hrm. Well...nope. Still more fun to be around.
Kleptomania: You know what we should do?
Me/Anxiety/Paranoia: Oh no.
Kleptomania: We should rob a bank!
Reckless Endangerment/Internal Sadism: YES!
Internal Sadism: This guy! This guy knows the score!
Sports Freak: What score? Which game? Are we missing a game?
Me: We're not robbing a bank.
Pragmatism: Fiscally, it might not be that bad an idea.
Me: Don't you start in on this.
Pragmatism: I'm just sayin'.
Paranoia: Now you've done it. Now you've done it. I bet right now we're getting the attention of every CIA agent in the state of Tennessee.
Me: CIA. In Tennessee. Why don't you just chill for a minute there, Paranoia?
Paranoia: AND BY CHILL YOU MEAN FREEZE IN AN ICE-COLD PRISON CELL IN MARYLAND!
Me: No. By chill I mean lay off the caffeine.
Gluttony: Bro, we haven't had much caf since the OD incident.
Internal Sadism: That was wicked.
Me: *sigh* And so it goes.
Music Lover: And so will you soon, I suppose!
Self-Loathing: Probably.
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