Bump when under the influence, formerly Bump when drunk

Word life, son! Where's the mofuckin Zima?

I meant semen. Err, meant peelin? Like, that awful fifth of Chernobyl brand vodka some idiot bought that seems to be the only garbage left around this ******* travesty of a an early evening? It peels paint, lacerates my organs, and gives daddy what he needs. The Peelin'. And: The anger fuel I need to complete my project in the garage.

What project? Secret. Super secret. It involves rolling my own cigarette, but the magic trick is that I have no tobacco, and I don't know how to roll things. (I believe I've found an acceptable alternative.)

So, mutation liquor should help shore this thing up. It's running at least as effectively as your average Pentagon project.

 
I actually yelled at the TV tonight. I've been pretty drunk/calm most of the season, but I got pretty worked up tonight.

I watched a Russell Peters stand-up afterwards. It made me feel less awful

 
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