My "roommate" is out of town for an entire eight long miserable days. I thought it might help pass the time if I kept an online diary of my events of the week. People are always asking me what the life of a world-famous comic book writer is like, so what better time than this than to share it with you, my dear, dear reader.
8:37 A.M.: The Early Bird
Leap out of bed to the chirping of spring robins, greeting a new day with song in my heart and a spring in my step.
10:37 A.M.: Drop roommate off at airport
I kiss my roomate goodbye, tell her how much I love her, and will miss her. It is going to be a difficult 8 days. I am already counting the minutes until her return.
11:12 A.M.: Stabbed by prostitute
Negociations were unsatifying for both parties, and I should have known better to let anybody into my car before agreeing on a price. Before I knew it she –if indeed she was a she– had a switchblade out and was demanding all of my money. I managed to get the passenger door open, and kick her out, but not before she jabbed me a couple times in the shoulder. It hurts like hell, but I managed to keep ahold of my wallet.
There are other fish in the sea, honey!
11:28 A.M.: Score!!!
Was able to procure a lid of primo black tar skag from some pock-faced greaseball in the University District. It probably would have been a better idea not to sample the product until I got home, because my judgment was pretty impaired, and I was whacked out of gourd by the time I reached the
11:45 A.M.: Liquor Store
Thank god for my roommate! She left her credit card behind and I was able to use it to run up a $187 tab at the liquor store. Shit, you'd be amazed how much booze you can buy if you stick to generic labels.
12:22 P.M.: Party in Progress
I called up my recently paroled drinking buddy "Soggy" Pete and he said he knew some girls he could invite over to my pad. One of them is an amputee, so I figure she would come cheap. Not so! Turns out she's the most expensive of the three. Go figure.
I was feeling pretty crazy after talking to Pete, guzzling straight vodka and washing it down with pineapple rum. Anyway, I invited the entire bus stop over, and now you better not be knockin' 'cause this fuckin' place is ROCKING!
There's some old guy with a beard in an army jacket named Artie says he knows how to get an entire blotter of high-grade squeak, at a really reasonable price, or maybe even trade for our DVD player. I told him to go for it.
Well, that's all for now. I'll update you later, and I'd like to tell you some of the crazy stories Artie has been telling me, but I'm so freaking high and drunk right now I can barely see straight. Plus, my drink is empy and I think one of the guys from the bus stop has blocked up the toilet again.
Party on, dudes!