HOLY BLEEEEEP. I gots into a gabblingly rip-roaring drunkage yesternight.XP I got mighty squiffy over a bottle of, err, (hum, I don't remember what sort of intoxicating potion I fuddled last night) err... HA! HEM-PEH-RAH-DOOOOOOOOR! I was the very first to hit the sheets last night, imagine.XP Thank heavens, my bed was only a crawling yard away. I just had the instinct to slink secretly from the crowd and teleport into my bed. I had not a recollection of my emesis until IC told me I puked in the bathroom and beside my bed with the plasticbagful of olid vomit in the mixture of masticated bile-saturated two slices of pizza and a handful of chicken roastings. What a bloody humbug. I thought I can still outdo men in tippling alcohol when I drank to stupor and made a mafficking buffoon out of myself.

And then, it all came to me in a wave of memories: I squatted on the filthy bathroom floor, my arms wrapped around the toilet, my nose two inches above the brown surface water when I felt the bile build up my throat and barfed all the contents of my stomach. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and examined the vomit floating on the toilet water. The future! thought I. As the water rippled with the mounds of putrid spew, I sought my ancient divination powers and anticipated the water to settle, the vomit to form the future. And there before my eyes was an image of a... round thing, like a moon made of curds of foul cheese. Fie! I interjected. The age of the moon is coming! My lunatic voice echoed among the bathroom walls. This means just one thing! I gathered my thoughts and scrutinized the vomit closer, the heavy stink of alcohol infiltrating through my nose. Ah, nights! My life this year shall be spent in the luminescence of the moonshine! I flushed the toilet and studied the bottom sucking the whirlpool of vomit into the toilet's monstrous belly. Out in the veranda, Serge sounded like a turbulent volcano erupting the same contents that I did. "IC, quick!" someone exclaimed. "Boil water and give Tobey a warm cup of it!" I slammed open the door, cried, "I don't needs any of that! I am perfectly fine!" and collapsed into my lumpy bed. In a moment my vocal reflexes roared, "Hand me a plasticbag goddamnit!" and retched another bagful of potential forecast. I dizzily studied the vomit but it was too dark to read it. I slipped it under the bed, and descended into eternal dormancy with the prethought of dreaming about my male alter ego. I woke up at six, my mouth frothing with drool while whispering the words from the dream, Search for Gabriel... Now who the fuckturd is Gabriel??

Biblical testaments hail Gabriel one of the seven archangels, the chief messenger of God. Assuming God and manbirds exist, I suppose Gabriel, being God's ambassador, would come to me, not I to him. Moments later, I noticed something lying underneath my bed. I retrieved the thing, and discovered a plasticbag of vomit. "Whose bloody fucking shit is this?? Lousy filthy scum, didn't even bother to throw it out the trash bin." Only to realize later that it was mine.

Word did you say?

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