Liqour and Me: A True Story

Oooh. I have a headache. It's the liquor and me. I love you so much. Too much. But I don't want to become a cliche. So, you're a hangover, nothing more, and if pressed I'll say I only suffer from you once a week. That's all. Once a week. And it is true. I can't do the kind of work I do with a hangover. I need to be clear-headed. I need to be focussed. I need my cock. But wait, the weekend. Oh, the weekend. Through the haziness I recall a female. A woman. A girl's parts in my face. Ah, Kirsty is in town and who can resist her? Not the several men she's already said "hello" to. I was simply another, put another notch on the bed board, baby. But I like being used. It feels good. I have been since I was a teenager and though I think, though I ponder, though I contemplate, I have no regrets. I enjoyed every moment of it. I suppose I'm weird. But there are others like me. If I can't find them in New York then where would they be...? Oooh. I have a headache.