Hare: Bang Cock
Scribe: Wet Blanket II, the one with the beard
The same boring people, the same stupid jokes, the same old routine. I thought that I, who am often the life of the party, might go to spread some joy to their meager existences.It's getting harder and harder to drag oneself out of bed at 11o'clock on a Sunday (depression will do that to you) morning to face going to hash. Deep depression is hard enough to
But some dull people who have nothing better to do//namely N., Zs., M., A., A., J., A., Cs., E., and others of their ilk (sorry but I am too important to try to learn their names even after they have always welcomed me warmly)/the writer of these lines is not a dull, boring person with a dull boring life (I am actually an agent for MI6 but being a dull, boring person is part of my cover, yes, I am very good at my job) but only went along out of curiosity (like the time they found me at the Blue Oyster dress up as Minnie Pearle)
tried once again going through the same old routine, hoping against hope that something/ a torrid love affair, a one night stand, a quick feel of ass when no one was looking, would come along and spice up
But all they got was some more dull, desperate, people for company, and a pointless walk through a maze of Buda trails leading nowhere, a living reminder that their lives were leading nowhere. (My therapist says that I do much better if I focus my own inadequacies outward)
Luckily there was beer at the end as I was becoming insufferable, along with the same tired songs that let them pretend they were engaging in humor and having fun, while numbing their brains with alcohol (I really wished I hadn't run out of my Zoloft or Prozac). The alcohol, unfortunately, wore off, and by the time soup came in that fucking sausage restaurant they ( I like to use the 3rd person plural even though I was in fact there) found themselves sobered up and sitting accross from ...oh what's the use, I can't go on writing this,
But if you're a stranger reading this, fresh meat as it were, in Budapest, take pity on these people and come, come join for our next desperate pretense at having a joyful, happy life, on Thursday or Friday, maybe you can make a difference. Details to be announced soon. But don't kill yourself yet, there is always the chance that happiness is jut around the corner, although it probably isn't, I am going home to smear peanut butter all over myself to have the dog lick off, that is if he hasn't run away again.
Some parting words from Sgt. Hulka:
