2001-03-02 - 16:20:55

�We�re drinking to life, we�re drinking to death, we�re drinking �til none of our livers are left��

I must stop waking up on other people�s couches. No, really. Yet another �quiet night� at the pub yields its David Banner-like demeanour to an Incredible Hulk-athon of alcoholic foolishness, enough red wine to float a small Marlon Brando and the catching of tubes to places not in strict alignment with the direction of my house. Not good on a school night. Luckily, a random occupant of the house wakes me not too long after I was supposed to be in the office, though the inside of my head seems to have been hired out as some kind of testing annex for centrifugal force experiments. The housemate is touting some kind of Chinese herbal remedy. I look at the jar and there�s not much in the way of a recognisable alphabet, except the phrase �For Big Fat Drinkers�. Well, that was definitely me, at least in spirit. It tasted like a plate of cabbage that�s just negotiated itself out of a goat�s digestive system, but do you know, reader, it did the trick.

�We�ll drink beyond the boundaries of sense, we�ll drink �til we start to see lovely pink elephants�inside our heads, inside our beds, inside the threads of our pyjama legs��

Next week we begin auditions for the film. We�ve rented some rehearsal space in town and actual real live actors (though, obviously, not very successful ones, since they�re auditioning for our film) will come and try and impress us. The director was warning me that there�s a lot of flirting to garner favour, up to and including offers of oral sex. I tried to look suitably aghast; not an easy task under the circumstances. No, I�ll be the consummate professional at all times.

Unless there�s some kind of tiebreak situation, of course.

�From the day I was born to the night I will die, all my lovers will be pink, and elephantine��

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