Bad behaviour, drinking again, like it is a thing, you know
they say it all surprised, like it had never happened before.
"Oh, dear god!" applause. “Someone get that fool a drink!”
And then there is your red wine mouth, you looked like a ghoul the last time you looked up. It surprised me, took me back. I was taken aback. I jumped, well, double took.
And all I could think of was the last time, and
red wine poo? It makes the poo paper look like gravely liquorice, I always think. Translucent Black. (good name for a band) A smear of trendy half muted, mat finish midnight strain.
Who looks? I know I always look. Do you? Does everyone admit to that? Looking at the crap you have just wiped from your arse? Don’t you have to look, so you know when to stop wiping? You don’t want to wipe the skin away. You want to be able to sit down whenever the mood takes you. I don’t suppose ladies admit to such things in polite company. (Most ladies would have you believe they don't shit at all)
It makes your vomit turn pink, (red wine, not poo)
Let me hold your hair back, as your mood turns grim,
your breath stinks, and there is all that drool down your chin,
get in water and you sink, oh no, we would not recommend that,
you can’t swim, you shouldn’t even try, glug, glug, glug, glug,
because as they say, it’s a good way to die. Cheaper than a Swiss clinic on the fly, though, I might just add.
And yet, we are all practically congratulated for downing some red plonk. A bottle, or two? An afternoon hard at it. A goon bag with a straw up a laneway with the headlights still blazing. It is amazing, how any of us got through our teenage years.
“More wine fellas?”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
“I think it might help to relax you.”
“And forget.”
“Forget?”
“My premonitions…”
“Inhibitions?”
“Oh, no,” And he belched loudly. “I definitely saw that coming.”
“But you didn’t forget.”
“Forget what?”
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