Meh

You soak in the bath for half an hour and shave all the relevant parts.

You ransack your wardrobe to try and find something that still fits so you can Look Your Best.

You take out a small loan so you can afford the extortionate entrance fees and artificially inflated drink prices.

And all this so you can go out for some forced enjoyment, pump your body with enough toxins to lay waste to a small country, end up a drooling, incoherent retard, pass out (possibly in a pool of vomit, not necessarily your own) and spend the ensuing 24 hours wondering what number bus hit you.

Out of all the new years I have endured and haven't been ill for I can think of one where I actually had fun. I'm obviously doing it wrong, but why do I have fun on every other night of the year but not this one?
Oh I'll smile for the photographs and sing Auld Lang Wotsit at midnight even though no one knows the words and I won't be coordinated enough to stand up, let alone cross hands and link with some other equally inebriated moron. But I won't enjoy it. Bah!

Happy Fucking New Year to you too.

written by  Koala Bear on December 31, 2006 from Perth, Australia
from the travel blog: Sod Off Great Big Mission Round Oz
tagged Bollocks
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