Hotflush Hangover June 07, 2016 11:20

I was out down Southwark last night, ladies and gentlemen. I got absolutely fucking terminated on lager in the bar of the Young Vic and some other pubs I can't remember the name of.

Have you ever noticed how lager hangovers are a million times worse than an ecstasy hangover? My head feels like it's about to split open and reveal a brain that is made of drawing pins and shattered glass. I only had about eighteen pints. On a couple of little pingers, my hangover feels like a warm blanket made of candy floss, angel wings and baby's bottoms. No, not baby's bottoms, that's a bit fucking weird. Candy floss, angel wings and a bit more candy floss. And my brain feels like a brain.

Tap tap

Is this thing on? I sometimes wonder if people actually fucking read this blog. Are you all busy reading the shit that CONTENT REMOVED BY HOTFLUSH LAWYERS and CONTENT REMOVED BY HOTFLUSH LAWYERS churn out every other day? I fucking hate them. Fuck it. I'll crack on...

Anyway, where was I? Original writing and content. That's it. So yeah, I'm dead hungover because of that booze, everyone. What this ConDem government needs to do is stop worrying about boring us all with Europe and listen to people like me and Bill Hicks when we talk about how alcohol is rubbish compared to drugs because it makes people dumb and drugs open up people's zzz, zzz...

Maybe it's because I'm still drunk, but is there ANYONE who writes in the dance music journalistic cesspit that I swim around in that writes as well as I do? Serious question. I read so much utter fucking bollocks that everyone shares around and says is good that I'm beginning to wonder if it's me who's shit.

I'm not though, am I? It's them.