I’m so disparate. No need to blame myself with a weakened liver and 4 draughts of beer at hand. Mismatched, the Paris Hilton cartoon by the urinalÂ states my penis size whilst the token corrugated wall in the main area suggests the naming of the Shebeen Pub i’m in.
The bar lady borrowed my pen in trade for my view of the results of her push-up bra. Nevertheless, i realize my miscalculation of time and forsake voyeurism and 400 of the 500ml of beer remaining to stroll, slightly too late, to the movies where 10 minutes of GI Joe exasperates and ejects me towards a long walk up a hill.
Goddamn that hill!