Did you just look at my pint?

So New Year's Eve and my internet connection goes, "Oi Brewski! "Av this you cunt!" And dies. Two days without the net. Weird, yeah? Exaserbated by my current immobility of course, compounded by me knowing as much about computers as a really thick cunt who knows nothing about computers. And we know what we say here at Hotrocks when we see a sentence like that, don't we? All together now, "Jesus!"

Fucking unreal. I was cold-turkey and no mistake. Due to my slovenly appearance and very delicate frame of mind, I couldn't bear to go to an internet cafe. Here on Demented Isle they are noisy bloody places with rows and rows of teens playing online games. Bollocks to that shit. Until about a year and a half ago I hadn't used the internet much, but since I got my own computer I've been reading fucking shitloads. Iss fackin' grate innit? Anyway, interesting was my reaction to a fucked computer.

Wake up you cunt, I'm talking to you.

In place of smelling salts get your head round this: Machu Picchu. Ever been there? Neither have I, and I don't even know if I've spelled it right. Gnarly, no? Right spooky there, I'd warrant. All big mountains, sheer drops and the ghosts of all those sacrificed cunts. Leave it out, boy. I ain't going there. Too much living-at-altitude shit going on. Fucking freaks!

If you don't know the classic beer-garden game 'Aunt Sally' you should be ashamed of yourself and should consider yourself a muppet. One of the best things to do while hammered is throw shit around. Now your talking.

You are not 'talking' however if you want to mention my fear of heights. Then, you are spitefully reminding me of my pathetic neurosis and I turn my head away, chin raised, slighted. It fucking sucks though. It's at the point where I can't watch a movie if the characters are on high, and they don't even have to be threatened. Which is odd, since if they are simply high, it makes me feel quite comfortable and in the mood to do drugs. Fair play, let's get fucked. I had to leave the room during a movie recently when a young couple were having an innocuous conversation sitting on the roof wall of an apartment building. I've said it before and I'll say it again, with gravitas: gravity will fuck you up.

To reinforce the sense of linear thinking and the clear development of an idea within this post: in a summer garden, the colour of red wine in a beautiful glass, lumescent ruby, fucking rocks. Drinking the fucker is even better though, as is putting yourself on the outside of a good few of his mates. Then we'll see what's what, what? And I bet I can climb the cherry tree faster than you, you cunt.

Because I haven't had the chance yet, I'd like to wish anyone reading this execrable bollocks a Happy New Year. Life, after all, is off-the-charts mental. Spirit of choice, squeeze the juice, get it fucking down you. Come on!!!

Sirrah!

"Fuck it. That's it. I'm setting myself on fire". The Good D.