I Wanna Fuck A Spice Girl. No Fuck That... I'm Gonna Fuck A Spice Girl!

I'm not going to make any apologies for being sporadic.  When benders last from one Wednesday night into the following Tuesday night, these things are to be expected.  At a juncture such as this, it becomes necessary to consider how badly you want it. 

Are you able to shake the memory of inadvertently drinking your own urine? Should you apologize for throwing a pint glass at a stranger's head, seemingly unprovoked, at a favorite local boozer? Does it make sense to consult a psychiatrist after hallucinating (in the midst of the aforementioned bender) that you discussed the possibility of a war with Iran with your long dead grandfather? Should you be worried about pneumonia after spending four hours in a broken down SUV with the windows down, cracked out in the financial district, awaiting help? Should you fear retaliation from the number of customers (and proprietors alike) who were utterly offended by your savagery? Maybe, maybe not. Maybe fuck yourself. Don't worry. Things can only get better. You love it when I'm bad. 

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