drinking until i have old football injuries

So the bailout was denied, that's good news.. That's all I'm going to say about it because otherwise I will have to lick Eric's cobra, which I am not at all looking forward to.. I bet he'd be a dick and let it stew unwashed for a week just to make it that much worse..

Anyway, I'm ridiculously hung over this morning, yet somehow in a pretty decent mood.. My head is throbbing, pulsing in places I didn't know blood even flowed.. And I swear to god I think I injured myself last night, but I don't remember crashing into anything.. And before anyone says "oh that's because you were drunk," no, I wasn't black-out drunk last night.. But now my shoulder is all fucked up like I aggravated an old college football injury.. The fucked up part is I didn't play football in college, so who knows what's going on with my shoulder today.. All I know is it hurts like hell, my brain is throbbing in strange places, and I know at some point in the very near future I'm going to have some nasty beer shits..

Speaking of which, what is it about lots of beer, and really alcohol in general, that makes you shit something fierce? I'm really curious now.. The stretch of innards from my stomach all the way to my butthole is just churning today.. And I'm kinda gassy too now, so I'm gonna be farting all day, and hang-over farts smell like death.. Last time this happened, which wasn't that long ago if you can believe it, I farted in my office and it was so bad I had to go outside.. You know you're in bad shape when you can't stand the smell of your own farts.. Not that my other farts smell like peaches, but after 28 years of dealing out my own butt-stink-bombs, you kinda get used to the regular ones.. They become like warm familiar blankets.. Not really, but you know what I mean.. Maybe I'm on my own on this one.. But hang-over farts, and shits for that matter, are just pure concentrated evil. Oh and throw some coffee on top of that.. I'm surprised I haven't shit yet.. Good thing I didn't eat breakfast this morning, I'd probably be in pretty bad shape..

And, Mr. Wilferd Brimley, learn how to pronounce diabetes properly.. And don't give me that "tomatoes, tomahtoes" bullshit.. You can stick that in a sack mister.. Or up your ass, I don't really give a shit which.. Go back to your Quaker Oats.. Or do a duo with John Ratzenberger about the importance of buying American... I dunno why I always associate those two, but I do.. It's because my mind is fucked up, but don't tell anyone.. Shit, cat's out of the bag..