No you’re not. Regrets are for pussies.
But what if he’s a pussy?!
The thing about Eve online, half of every thing I own in game, is 30 jumps from all the other stuff I own. I could spend a week just moving shit. Still I pay to play this game. Where’s my aortic tear to give me release.
Rich is a fucking mountain.
Now that’s a drunk post. Regret nothing! Retracted apology accepted.
I wish I could be friends with drunk me. But he won’t return my calls.
I think we need to clone you so that there is enough drunk Rich to go around.
Target: Sobriety
Status: Enemy in sight
Man that is a scary picture in my mind now. Several of me, all of whom know everything about each other, fighting for the last bottle of Elijah 18. There must be only one!
Well obviously the clone yous will have to go out into world Kwai Chang Caine style and get their own whiskey and do good.
Ed. Dude. You’re a great guy. But you’re not thinking this through. If I was cloned right this second, and depending upon the quality of the clones, I’d be an army of very angry clones that just spent two hours on hold waiting for Roadrunner to figure out why I don’t have a damn email address yet after 3 months of waiting. Depending upon the number and quality of the clones, I’d get them all together. And let’s face it, they’d all agree with me. We would arm ourself/selves and head out to destroy shit. Mainly any roadrunner offices. Then we’d all be hungry. And we’d want quality tacos right now. So let’s say that a crowd of me would be stealing cars in Orlando right now. I’d be the only one wearing clothes. But a naked me pulling a person out of a car would be a thing. Hey after all, safety in numbers, right? Then a bunch of drunk mes would be driving to the nearest Taco place. At this hour it would be closed. So after a bit of crashing and bumping we’d decide that a Taco Bell would be enough. Oh and on the way, we would get tequila. Lots of tequila. Tacos and tequila, right?
So let’s say 100 of naked me crash together into the parking lot of a 24 hour Taco Bell. We all have a bottle of cheap tequila in our hand. We all converge upon the Taco Bell. One of us, not me, a naked one. Screams, TACOS FOR ME! And the poor kids at the Taco Bell have to start pounding out crappy tacos for a bunch of guys that are drunk and all look alike. The trauma would destroy their minds. Actually making them the perfect Taco Bell employees, but I digress.
Of course after eating and drinking we’d get interested in sex. I draw the curtains closed at this point.
Ed. Be careful what you wish for.
So trigeminal neuralgia is really bad. Apparently, I don’t have it, though, despite my wikipedia-based self-diagnosis, because the emergency room percocet killed most of the pain, which it wouldn’t have done if that was what it was. And percocet is really good.
Assume that “Comfortably Numb” is playing in the background right now. Because it is.
Are you a pussy if you pull a George Bush and pre-emptively drinky-drink your brain to dissolution, because sober or not, your much too near future is being loomed over so dreadfully it’s become just a poor little shadow, by something from which escape - or even just postponement - is no longer possible?
…
Oh how I wish I had a hundred RichVR clones right about now :S
Reading the symptoms, it might “just” be a dental problem of some sort. I know someone who thought her face wanted an agonising divorce or something, but to her great relief learned it was just a wisdom tooth that had evidently gotten so turned around it not only needed to come out, but in its confused state had accidentally made her feel like half her face was on fire instead of just giving her that ever so lovely dull throbbing in the jaw thing misfit wisdom teeth normally do.
Similarly, various dentists of mine over the years have all agreed my (mercifully infrequent) periodic (I want to say screamingly, paralysingly & utterly incapacitating, but I don’t want to sound like a wimp even though that’s what we, respectively, happen to be) facial pains, is a product of the damage I’ve taken to my teeth & jaw & stuffs. I get the impression mis-/dis-placed pain is fairly common.
Yeah, it’s almost certainly dental, because at this moment I’ve got a lot of swelling presumably the result of an infection, quite possibly from an impacted wisdom tooth. I’m on antibiotics they prescribed at the hospital, but have to wait till tomorrow to actually see a dentist. It’s almost magical how little pain I’m feeling at the moment, though, due to the oxycodone. It was a nice 8/10 on the frowny-face scale before I got to the emergency room. I do have the feeling though that if I lanced the swelling it would release a jet powerful enough to clean masonry, or possibly cut through it…
First of all, let’s kill a myth here: Drinking Does Not Kill Brain Cells.
On the other hand, drinking yourself to stupid is never a good way to go. While I and many people I know just love to drink ourselves stupid occasionally, it just ends up at the hangover stage. And when you’re hung over the next day whatever you did during the drinking binge ALWAYS seems 100 times worse. It doesn’t matter if it’s a random drunk post or something like stealing one of those flashing yellow hazard lights on the police barriers and bringing to a friend’s house at 4 AM. Trust me, it’s never worth it.
Sure, life sucks and most smart people think too much. That combination leads to lots of mental suffering. But drink is for having fun. Not for destroying that wonderful grey jelly in your head. So yeah, if you drink to destroy your brain, I’d call that being a pussy. Don’t be a pussy. Drink and write ridiculous funny stuff here. If you are really depressed about the world, find a person to talk to about it. I’d go as far as to say seek professional help. Not that I’m saying that you personally need professional help. That is for each individual to decide. But consider the concept of an ordered life. Be self aware. Meditate upon your place in your own world. Your world is as malleable as clay. Make of it what you wish. It can be done.
If you want to PM me I’ll try to help. But I can’t guarantee anything. You are the boss of you. Give yourself a chance to shine.
Had put down my girls friend cat. Feel sort of bad. Still not sure how it’s going in the frozen ground. War. damm.
Ah, bitter disappointment! There you are; you never stray very far away, do you? Sit down–no, no, I insist–and make yourself at home. Let me pour you some Rye, it’ll take away the chill and you’ll be up and on your way again before you know it.
So, this happened.
Snow Day! Relaxing with some Old Speckled Hen.
Is that new-speak for MILF? What are the two of you drinking in the hot tub?