Park Bench.

It must be hard to be a hobo. Waking up on a park bench is not one of the most enjoyable ways to start your morning. No wonder the homeless are always swearing.
Yes, you guessed it, last night I was the drunk. THE drunk. The penultimate drunk. The god of drunks. Nay, I was so drunk that even the god of drunks looked up at me as I staggered down the lonely Palmy street with a burger in one hand, two burgers in the other hand and a beer in the other other hand and said "oh shite man, that guy is fucked up". And indeed I was.
So what was I doing in Palmeston North? Celebrating with an old school friend who had managed to turn 21. We did so with 520 cans of beer. And 21 bottles of wine. And a five litre bottle of rum. Oh yes, you can get 5 litre bottles of rum.
Ehhhh... I really dont have much to say, except that I am a smoking hot bitch on the dance floor. Not with all this hipping and hoppin, jiving and joving buisness you all do these days, but that old school stuff, with the arms. You know what I mean. I am going to get some dance lessons inside me so that I shall be immortal. On the dance floor. You better bet I look good.

Now I have to finish an assignment. Yeah, I didnt get round to it on thursday. Essays + Hangovers = F.U.N!

The "F" stands for "Fire". I'll let you think about the rest.