It wasn't long before the chemicals kicked in.
What the fuck?
Woke up this morning,
Got myself a gun.
Woke up this morning. At 7.45am. To the sound of a speeding truck outside my window.
I looked out my window.
Me: Thanks fer wakin' me up, ya fuckin' arsehole!
Saves me five bucks on buying a fucking alarm clock. Instead, I got a 12-cylinder, couple-a-hundred thousand dollar machine doing that every morning.
I looked at myself. Naked. Alone. Disoriented. Talkin' Irish. In my room which is now clean.
What the fuck happened last night?
Did a Thai hooker break into my house, undress me, cleaned my room and left? A vigilante cleaner-whore? How much did I pay her? And why didn't she wash the dishes?
And why am I talking to myself with an Irish accent? The universe is vast and infinite. With untold tales and unsolved mysteries.
Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?
I...remember entertaining people last night. There were people sitting in a row, watching life pass idly by.
So, when I see people sitting in a row, watching life pass idly by, I started entertaining them. Send in the clowns, man. It used to be Alam, my mentor and beloved friend, who would do this, using me as a Mr Punch sometimes. Good times, man, Good times.
Of course, the very English Mr Punch originated from Italy. From the commedia d'ell arte. I hope I got the apostrophe right.
Punch was the character Pulcinello or Punchinello.
To make the Mr Punch voice, you would need a 'swatchell' - a thingamajig made from cotton, tin and string. Placed somewhere near the opening of the throat.
At some point, someone infected me with an Irish accent. And as we all know, the name Guiness is pronounced 'Ginis'. Not Gines. Not Guines. Ginis.
1759, it was. When old Darth Guiness started brewing the dark ruby liquid and treated them with fish floats. Floats inside the fishies.
You know Sherry? Prostitutes' and housewives' drink, Sherry. Came from Spain. British privateers (paid pirates) would rob Spanish galleons and steal hundreds of casks with the name 'Jerez' on it. They used to call it 'Jerrys', later bastardised to be Sherry.
In Portugal, it is sometimes called Xerez. They still call it Jerez in Spain.
Talking about Spanish galleons, the Venetian Galleas was an extremely durable ship. But a real sailor would prefer a sloop or maybe the brigantine, for traders. Know what a sloop is?
Never you mind.
Chinese junks had stern rudders.
What am I writing?
I need to shake this Irish accent off, man. And this sudden longing to sail...on a fucking sailboat.
My bonnie lies over the ocean...
My bonnie lies over the sea...
My boner is up and waiting...
I need to go and find some WD-40...