alcohol is a helluva drug

it's about midnite,

and while the bastards (not like how i'm a bastard but, you know, different kind of bastard) who do the karaoke don't bother me as much as the usually do anymore,

but sometimes,

i let it get to me.

and sometimes,

when i drink enough tequila on a tuesday night, i go and mail out my netflix movie at midnite
and i listen to how annoying it sounds.

and sometimes, i approach a random man with pock marks all over his face and while he smokes and i put my arm around his shoulder and i tell him,

"you know, you guys are a bunch of inconsiderate dicks."

"oh"

"and you'll never have that "a-ha moment" that you are keeping people awake at night"

"and where do you live buddy?"

"right next door", and the bastard points to his bedroom located directly next door and upstairs to this awful stereotype that is an italian "bistro". by the way a "bistro" is actually derived from a russian word that means "quick", not from an italian word that means "ugly, kitchey and full of wannabe sopranos extras".

pock marked is moved by this says, "i'll talk to them"

i tell him, "don't bother. he doesn't care. he never cared since the day he opened the place."

then i tell him to have a good night because, what else can one do when your sleep schedule is in the hands of others.

ten after midnite and the racket stopped. maybe there is a god but, then i think that maybe all of the middle aged also rans have just decided to go home to live their lives.

a-ha. god save queens.

—the bastard