Drink, Nuns, and Kinky Sex Tapes: The ever changing life of a wannabe hermit.

I never thought I had a drink problem, until I thought I had a drink problem.

I liked drink and getting drunk, it was not a problem.

But appartley it was for others.

Ah now. This is not me drink bashing. I love drink. I love it more than a big bussomed girl likes taking off her bra through her sleve at the end of a long day (still have no idea how they do that btw). It brings a little enjoyment to my life, however, thing is, it also makes me wake up in some strangers house at 8 am on a Wednesday morning when I’m supposed to be in school.

It also turns me into a modern day hermit. Now not the cool type who believe aliens killed Marlyn Monroe but the “fuck off and leave me alone or Ill eat your liver with some fava beans” type.

Now all things in moderation my friends. Including being a hermit. Sometimes humanity is really not worth the effort, its one of the reasons it spends most of its time trying to destroy itself. But again moderation. its okay to go out and shout at the kids on the street every once in a while for kicking the ball into your garden. In fact scientists hired by The Guardian say its very good for you.

get off

Sex gets interesting when one goes through this phase. Or the lack of it….

You find your internet browser gets very interesting. A bit kinky for a Northside chap whose idea of foreplay used to be a bag of chips before sex. Paddling gets searched for and not the kind of paddling Abe Simpson’s mate Jasper does be on about. “Blindfolds, handcuffs and WD40…..better believe that’s paddlin!!'”

paddlin

 

The nun thing just kinda happened by accident.

Nuns_With_Guns

 

My father always had nuns of some kind hanging about the house in some shape or form so I suppose I cant be blamed. I met this group of sisters (I believe the collective term is a “Murmer” or a “Flap”. I kid you fucking not. Look it up.) outside central bank one Tuesday around half six. They seemed to feel my anxiety with life and started talking to me. As nobody had talked to me in a week, I talked back.

Long story short. Nuns come to my house now to make sure I’ve not topped myself.

Its a funny old life.

 

 

 

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