therightbastard

I get confused sometimes.

Confused as to whether I'm old or young, as to whether I' an entreprenuer or a philosopher, a tragic romantic or a savagely commited lush...

This week, I'm definitely leaning towards lushdom. The two margaritas I had with dinner and the phrase "Days since last bar fight: zero" make that question a wee bit academic

I'm in a mood to seduce and destroy, to create rare and exceptional moments in a sea of bland...

The thing about me, is that I <i>will</i> do that. It's in my contract; my goddess' attack lawyers will be all over me unless I acheive my weekly quota of bloodied noses, or if my bar tabs aren't inflated to the scale of third world deficits; If I don't woo angels and further corrupt my personal demons, the repurcussions will be severe...

If you've ever had a long weekend in Chicago with me, you know this to be true.

At the end of the day, as the sun rises on a new, pristine morning, the important thing will always be that you've made the night remember you, and that the bodies left behind you have your name written on their backs in various bodily fluids.

Conan was a pansy... He never even mentioned free cocktails.

But you still want a cuddle, no matter the havoc you've wreaked.

Robert Frost was right.