Blow me

Picking people up is an art (Hunter S. Thompson)

Over the silly season, when there are many lost and lonely souls out there, it has been hunting season for some of us not lost or lonely but alone and sick and twisted who slowly but surely began feeling jealous and bent on vengeance having been surrounded for about a year (more?) by everyone happily making out while the only thing you made out with was a black label or a fag (a lot). For consistency’s sake, two weeks later you’ve bagged about 10 different people with ten different, incrementally high blood-alcohol levels. All you did was sit there, drunk and vaguely interesting or plain vague and disinteresting and make yourself seem interesting by throwing the word ‘art’ and ‘artist’ around while providing vague and quite pathetic insights into work that isn’t happening because you have some AIDS-related death wish.

‘The one’ is in all of them if only you could cut certain parts out and create your very own Frankenstein soul mate. Anyway all in all it looks like it’s going to be a fantastic fucking new year, what with the soccer gracing our shores, so maybe I’ll be able to collect enough parts for the best soul mate ever.

Happy fuckin new year to you too.