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To Josh Anderson's previous piece

oh yeah, i said that

back up, what were we talking about? oh, your stretchy dyed out dreds and how good they'd look be- and de- draggled over my toilet. look, i'm a hapless drunk, so i need to date another hapless drunk. we can shine our way down past your current boyfriend (my hero, over there berating yet another punk for not knowing the import of being poisoned by the city and state authorites) and make up our own words of what codependency can be like when two people are so aware of it, it down deep, like quitting smoking when no one is their to help you quit quitting-absolutely no fun. a downward spiral is to be shared, haired, with my fingers stroking it (yeah, no one's stroked mine in awhile). what, am i desperate? duh da dumb of course. isn't it's the culturally poppy way to tell someone it fling time? doesn't the loveur gnash some teeth and cry "blood, blood, i want a flesh barricade against myself!". isn't that what coupling is-you watch my front while i watch myself gurgle? let me play my playful self and retract all this before anyone reads it or decides to remember-the great part about substance abuse is to claim no memory the next day. so on that playful tip, can we still fuck like children and not piss anyone off with claims of eternal devotion-though i can conjure that if you want to role play. oh, argument over, dialectic partially synthesized, bye. don't leave me here with my sober reflection telling me what fun i was. actually, you're right, the remorse is alot more entertaining since it figures out new ways screw you, like quitting cigarettes: i prepare for the large turning of the chest clamps when this time it's a new notion of how detrimental this whole rumination is to me shelving this book, but that's a tale for another time.