I haven't been about this week because I hate you all, but before this question goes, have this:
It was to be my first vomitting hangover. I was 23, and could hear a big dog barking, constantly, almost - almost - on the second, like it was time-keeping.

I stared up at the ceiling, only able to conclude that it wasn't mine. I turned to my side to see that we were sleeping on a mattress on the floor, surrounded by dirty laundry, lager cans, overflowing ashtrays, and empty spirit bottles.

Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm was screeching in and out and in and out and in and out and in and out.

A mass of hair next to me prevented further identification without the fear of waking the owner.

The car alarm was screeching in and out and in and out, almost perfectly off-beat to the dog barking and barking and barking and barking, but not quite.

A van pulled up nearby, and as the doors were opened, immediately people started throwing heavy items into it with resounding clangs.

Suddenly, the mass of hair next to me woke up.

Turning to me with a grin, it said happily

"Welcome to Peckham!"
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 3 May 2012, 12:34, 4 replies)

Fucking fuck!
I totally forgot Vag.
Fffffuuuuuuu.....
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Thu 3 May 2012, 12:37, closed)

I don't
get it.
(username failed moderation, Thu 3 May 2012, 12:43, closed)

See below.

(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Thu 3 May 2012, 12:44, closed)

Nope,
just a lot of biscuit crumbs.
(username failed moderation, Thu 3 May 2012, 13:48, closed)