Raisin ramblings

Last night, King Haldol (who is actually just my mailman, but will henceforth be referred to as King Haldol...) sat brooding in Castle Vicodin on the planet Xanax, near the great Demerol Forest and the river Wellbutrin, called and insisted I meet him for a drink. He had that sort of tone in his voice that meant he would soon go after strangers' eyes with a salad fork, and because I am a good friend, I agreed.

(Unnecessary Note: I really am a good friend. Some people may not think so, because as we've established earlier, I'm difficult. I tend to dissapear for days at a time, sometimes I borrow things and sort of forget to give them back, and I will tell you that you are full of shit if, indeed, you are full of shit. You'd be amazed at how many people don't appreciate that. Oh, and I also have this silly diary where I may or may not reveal embarrassing personal details about you. On the plus side, however, I am incredibly loyal, sort of the human equivalent of a golden retriever, I will allways stick up for you in public or private, and if you demand that I meet you for a drink I will walk over my own grandmother to do so. Just make sure you include the words 'for a drink'.)

And well, It was fun. And if my soul hadn't gone out on yet another drinking binge, I bet it would feel so cleansed right now, so, I think next time I'd rather go play in traffic. Or I would if there was any traffic at 1:30 in the freaking morning. So maybe I won't. But I will think about playing in traffic. And then I will maybe go to sleep and pretend I'm in a coma as a result of the imaginary playing in traffic. And then maybe you will come visit me and leave me flowers that I can't see because they're not real and I'm not really in a coma anyway.