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Confessions of an unstable Editor-In-Chief: Pink bubble-gum

2009-11-11 07:03:29

This was a rough week. I haven't felt like that since I was just 6 years old. And I'm truly glad about it. I'll tell you, pink bubblegum IS NOT GOOD for your health. Why else would I have been drinking the whole last week. Because of pink bubble-gum, of course. Just looking at it made me wanna drink. And so I did. The whole week long.

Everything started last Saturday, after my assistant editor had taken care of publishing the new issue. I would have never been able to do that myself. I had a terrible headache, from the previous week.

Anyway, it all started last Sunday after I had thought that it would have already started on Saturday. It didn't. So as you can see, it just had to start on Monday, as Sunday is my day-off. And there's no reason to drink on Sunday.

So on Monday...wtf...why am I doing it to myself? Why am I torturing myself over and under and over again? Just to please your creapy fantasies? No way, enough of that. On Monday I just went out with myself to have a drink for two. It all started like usually - one beer, two beers, multiple beers, tequila, rum, two pieces of cake and a sandwich. Some cigarettes, 3 shots of pure vodka, a glass of tea with honey followed a by bottle of Champaign. That was enough for starters. I didn't feel too good, but it must have been the bubble-gum which I just couldn't get out of my mind. Pink bubble-gum, how can anyone chew it?

Why? Where did it come from anyway?
Which was the first one, pink or blue bubble-gum? These were the questions that troubled my mind. And if I hadn't have passed out at that moment I would have been forced to think about it the whole evening. Fortunately I did pass out and spent 2 hours in a slaughterhouse, at least that's what I usually call it a house full of tiny men with big egos wearing groovy blue outfits. THE POLICE. No Sting, just the police. They throw you to the ... the plate...floor and forget you for couple of hours (or even for the entire night like happened couple of weeks ago). No food, no anything, just a plain slaughterhouse. Where no one really gets slaughtered, but still. You get my point. I hope.

Anyhow, where wereI? No coma this time, but I guess I just managed to pass out because of some heart condition I'm not aware of. It couldn't have been the drinks, definitely not. I just got started. Want proof? Well, after I managed to get out of the house of tiny blue men with great egos, I
went back to the bar. True, my choice probably wasn't the smartest one...to go back to the same bar where I had passed out. They wouldn't let me in, they just said "Guesss no one loves you monkey-boy." These guys
have been listening too much Bloodhound Gang, for sure. No doubt about it.

As you most likely already understood they didn't let me
into the bar, so I decided to visit some other joint. However, the first joint I saw was the gambling paradise called a casino. As I had bills to pay, writers who were waiting for their wages and gangs expecting to get back their debts, I had loads of money in my pockets as ... I
hadn't really paid anyone yet. And I was glad about it. Still am. I think.

So there I was, playing at the roulette table and trying out a scheme that a friend of mine had suggested - always double the amount and you'll never loose anything. Well, sounded good to me.

And theoretically, it should work. I started out with just 25 euros, then 50, then 100, continued with 200, 400, 800, 1600...25, 6000. I never won anything. But all I needed was one win to compensate all my losses with this scheme. Quite simple and positive, I must say. Only I had a little problem. After I had lost another bet of 204,800euros, I realised that I didn't have another 409, 600 to double the sum.....all I had left were the old socks and couple of bananas (like usual).

Bankruptcy. Not only for me, but fortunately also for the paper The Cheers. The magazine was to be closed down. And actually I was quite happy about it. After all, if the
owners of the magazine should decide to discontinue using my services, they need to pay me a huuge amount of money - it stood in my contract. So, why should I worry? I was extremely happy about my success.

But good things never seem to last too long, I woke up and discovered all the casino bull had been just in my dreams.
Dammit! Again, Why can't I be happy just once in my life? I was still laying on the floor of the police station, waiting for the waiter to bring me a beer. Pint? Two? God knows. You never know what to expect from policemen.

One day they bring you a pint, the other day two...and the third day they tell you that you're not in the police
station at all.

And now I look like a freakin' elf. And all that thanks to the fuckin' pink bubble-gum which I hate more than my own life.




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