Henry Marken
Sorry I haven’t been posting any blogs lately, it’s just that I’ve been really drunk.
That probably sounded douchey as hell, but it’s the truth.
I can’t remember what the initial excuse was, it probably had to do with the school year ending soon, which by the way, the last semester of my junior year comes to a close this week; but for the past 18 or so days, I’ve been on a stupid bender.
Look, I’m the guy that cringes when reading or watching people bragging about their alcohol consumption. It’s like, “Yeah, congrats dude. Go fuck yourself.”
I mean Jesus Christ, if you can’t read a room and you come in blabbering on and on about how much booze you drink, how much sex you have, how good at college you are… then you gotta be like one of the biggest douche-canoes around, or definitely the biggest airhead at the very least. You’re just a cockrag.
I mean, no offense, but who the fuck gives a shit, right?
With that being said, I don’t know how to write about being drunk without sounding like a fucking moron.
I can tell you what it feels like now.
Like how this morning, when I attempted to go on my first jog in almost three weeks, I sweat out so much vodka, you could have taped a glass bottle to my chest, collected my sweat like rain water, and then put it back on the shelf of the liquor store. I’m serious, I smelled like someone just hosed me down with isopropyl.
God lord, my body aches. My throat hurts like a bitch too. It feels like I swallowed broken glass all weekend. I hope it’s strep. That’s always a fun party favor.
My god, opening up my laptop this morning was like getting hit by a freight train. I currently have a four figure number of unread emails.
Jesus, checking through my snapchat message feed today was a fucking treat. I guess I didn’t really notice it until today, but I saw a lot of blue snap arrows with females I used to have sexy time with. Keywords are “used to.”
I’m sure they were just thrilled to see my name pop on their feed again.
Oh, that reminds me, if you are sending an “in-the-moment” kind of text to a certain someone, whether you are trying to invite a significant other over for drinks or if you are asking your buddy to do drugs… make sure you double check their last name before you hit send.
I may or may not have asked the wrong Ben to do a certain naughty substance over the weekend, and now… let’s just say that the wrong Ben’s mother is not too pleased with me at the moment.
Whatever, put it on my tab. That’s something I’ve said a lot recently.
Jesus, my bank account looks like Little Red Riding Hood went bloodletting in a kiddie pool.
It’s red, so very red.
Okay, I’m gonna stop talking about my bender now because nobody really gives a flying fuck. I don’t even care anymore about it.
I mean, did I break the world drinking record?
No.
Am I an impressive heavyweight who takes on benders like it’s a weekly workout regimen?
No.
Do people go a lot harder than me on average and not blog about it?
Probably. Congrats to those people.
I have a final exam I should probably study for. My semester ends in five days.
If you are a quarter-system rat, who has more than two months of school left, you and your communist lifestyle can kindly go swan-dive off a cliff, please and thank you.
