It was my office xmas party last night
I can honestly say i’d rather be paralysed with GHB mainlined into my gooch laying on an offcut of MFI underlay in the basement of john wayne gacey’s Ranch, while he’s on the mooch for hairless puckered arseholes to violate, than go to another .
I’d rather be Hugh Grants walnut turned fleurs-de-lys strap-on plunging helplessley into some sundry Bronx prostitutes dirtbox like a f ucked chernobyl graphite rod , than ever go to another office xmas party. I’ve had more fun whacking me meatus between two B&Q sanding blocks.
Problem is , i only meet the people i work with a couple of times a year and then we are thrust into a room every december and told to socialise to a soundtrack of Greg lake and Jona louie while being plied with booze. It’s like some crazed GDR social experiment at the Trabant works factory.
My hangover was so evil I threw up in morning for the first time since Terry mcCann had furry dice in his Mk2 capri. I had the shakes like Nicholas cage in ‘leaving las Vagas’. I was shuffling about the house like a short eye nonce on E wing with the tea urn.
I hurled back up two milk thistle tablets and My berroca drink. i’ll probably still be processing the toxins for 3 months. My only task today was to take in the 11am shop from ocado. The thought of dealing with this seems gargantuan.
’er indoors is most impressed. Called me a ‘peg toothed cunt ’ before she left for venice.
True Romance.
Think i’ll give it a miss next year.
