I wrote this strange review last evening whilst I was still wallowing in my own hungover weltschmerz. This kind of shit will be a thing of the past now I am a detoxing, recovering former drunkard who be turning into a health freak:
I don't want to write about plans and theories anymore. Plans and theories are boring. I am very tired, but I can't sleep. Maybes I will write about condoms.
Several months ago I wandered into boots the chemists and purchased a big box of condoms. Durex pleasuremax condoms. At the time I thought this makes me very big and clever. I will use them when I finally fuck Lotte or Maria. That bitch. She will succumb to my charms yet. Once I have finally stopped trying to attract her with my David DeAngelo cocky and funny lines and have finally worked up the courage to try and kiss her. So I bought the condoms. These pleasuremax rubber boys would truly enhance my sex life providing pleasurable super happy fun sexy time for me and my sexual partner. With their magical little pleasure bubbles of love.
I've had sex 3 times. The whole box of condoms has somehow dissapeared or evaporated. They didn't live upto their expectations.
I am seriously fucked up right about now. Maybes at times we have to sink back into our heads and suffer. Hmmph. This kind of Xanga philosophy is warped and reeks of not getting 'any.'
Yes. Strange indeed. Those condoms didn't live upto their expectations though.
I'm off to read The Rum diary and live vicariously through the literary drunkards. Tee hee
-Michael
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