this is why we should have hid the whiskey

I wandered down to the Troika this morning in my slippers, pajama bottoms and smoking jacket. I was dangerously hung over and wanted to keep the freaks at bay. This is the sort of thing that, as an adolescent, I would have done with some sort of intent. Now, it's just another day in a quiet little town called Me, where under the seemingly placid exterior, lies a deep, dark secret.
Hm? Oh, yes; "intent". Well, I mean, I wasn't trying to be unique or quirky or some brain-damaged thing like that. Find myself? I've been living with myself for several years now.
After the receipt of my americano ("Bob"...Lumber...executive...), I was padding toward the door outside, and passing a young father and his two larvae, he instinctually seized them both by the shoulders and pulled them to him, nestling their little faces protectively in his crotch. Fool. What's a guy in pajamas gonna do? Oh, right. Sleep.
Then, I'm sitting around up here, Googlin'. Google me the following: sleep milk, slit wrench, skookumchuck and slurp cat. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. Then I found out there's this thing here that enables even a very hungover ticking time bomb like myself to create a blog. So I done it...Went 'n did it.
Please excuse my joke about receiving an American.