Donald Trump is turning me into an alcoholic. Since the election I’ve been drinking heavily every day as I can’t face reality.
This hateful alternative reality we appear to be living in, with our presiding s***-flinging gibbon, flapping his weird little mouth all over the place, threatening the very foundations upon which our civilisation is based, terrifies me too.
You’re absolutely right to drink. The only question is what to drink.
Red wine is my anaesthetic of choice. The tannin-rich, soporific properties of a nice dozy Merlot temporarily inure me to the horrors of the onrushing apocalypse.
Lager also works, but in a different way. A lively 5%+ brew – Stella Artois, let’s just be honest here – gets me appropriately dieseled-up for a futile scrap with some random red-hatted prick on Twitter.
Decent whiskey reminds me of the timeless, oaky heft of our ancient institutions. ‘Hey, can’t be that bad,’ my sloshed noggin is inclined to reflect. ‘When this bitch was bottled we were still in the Cold War, and that came to nothing.’ Idiot.
Absinthe makes me hallucinate about the fantastical chimera of a Sanders presidency.
Gin makes me temporarily re-focus on my lousy personal life. Malibu just makes me sick.
May I suggest switching up to class As.*
My girlfriend is constantly looking at her phone. At dinner, while we’re watching a movie, even while I’m going down on her it’s just swipe, swipe, swipe.
Is this normal? Should I be worried?
Back up there a moment there, buddy. ‘While I’m going down on her?’ You’re obviously doing a shit job at that.
But yeah. It’s normal, sadly. Don’t worry.
I’m married. We’ve been together eight years. Bloody ages. My wife is always looking at her phone, and fair enough. I’m a boring c***, we’ve had every conversation imaginable, and she’s busy.
So long as you’re getting your end away once in a while it’s all good.
You’re not? No s***. Ditch her.
*Apples, that is. Some nice fruit and veg will make you feel much better.
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