Anyone who has dared ventured down into the depths of the past week's posts will know I have a special dislike for this time of year. For various reasons (which I shan't burden anyone with), I, at best, don't give a shit about Christmas and, at worst, fucking loathe it. Now, the holidays are a difficult time for many and I'm certainly a member of that particular group. That said, I have a sneaking feeling that the 2003 edition is going to be extra-super gay (in the Grade 6 sense of the word, that is). I don't know what it is, but I feel an extra-large sense of impending doom as the whole Christmas-New Year's double team inches inexorably closer.
Now, normally, I'd figure on simply drinking myself into a state of near-unconsciousness, but I think moderation will be the watchword in that regard this season. See, the secret is to get just drunk enough. Your average amateur drunk will, upon finding themselves blessed with a decent buzz, simply try to consume more to keep things rolling (a sin I myself was guilty of on Saturday night,with disastrous consequences). The key, as I'm sure Frank would tell you if he wasn't, you know, dead, is you gotta know when to say when. So there you have it: a kinder, gentler, less vomity drunk holiday season it will be. And if that doesn't numb the pain, there's always hard drugs.
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