Oh, I'm Chrissy Mackenzie, I'm from Vancouver but I came here to study environmental journalism,— the girl exclaimed with way too much enthusiasm. "You got any advice?""Search me," Mandy muttered, spooning another ice cube from the empty glass on the table in front of her. "I like pollution, I write in favor of it, and environmental journalism most often implies that it's in favor of all that "go green— hippie crap.— "Oh, well." Chrissy seemed taken aback, offended, and Mandy sighed a fourth time. "Damn it, I'm really sorry," she apologized, smiling dismally at the aspiring writer. "It's just been a really lousy day for me and I wasn't really thinking. My advice? Find your own cause to represent, not one thrown out into society by a ton of environmentalist dopes. Find something new, something you think could be improved, and work from there." Chrissy smiled with a look of total ecstasy as if the words of some nobody woman were important. Mandy momentarily noticed the groups of laughing, drunk, giggling people, all acting childish and for a moment she wished she could be them.

Could the two people who are making out please be quiet? the Colonel asked loudly from his sleeping bag. Those of us who are not making out are drunk and tired.

Shame on you. Don't tell me you've been married for an hour and you've already got eyes for another woman.

He looked into the crowd for approval, saw his mother and father. He waved and they waved back. Smiles and Indian teeth. They were both drunk. Everything familiar and welcome. Everything beautiful.

People are talking about immigration, emigration and the rest of the fucking thing. It's all fucking crap. We're all human beings, we're all mammals, we're all rocks, plants, rivers. Fucking borders are just such a pain in the fucking arse.

What's so unpleasant about being drunk?Ask a glass of water!

There were, however, a few exceptions.One was Norma Dodsworth, the poet, who had not unpleasantly drunk but had been sensible enough to pass out before any violent action proved necessary. He had been deposited, not very gently, on the lawn, where it was hoped that a hyena would give him a rude awakening. For all practical purposes he could, therefore, be regarded as absent.

And why was I sitting on the curb? I honestly didn't know, but it was better than being inside my apartment, all alone. And yeah, I was alone out here, but it didn't feel that way. I was pretty sure there was a squirrel over by the tree, so that counted for something, right?

excuse my enthusiasm or rather madness, for I am really drunk with intellectual vision whenever I take a pencil or graver into my hand.

One should always be drunk. That's all that matters...But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk.

You can't just make me different and then leave

We all look for happiness, but without knowing where to find it: like drunkards who look for their house, knowing dimly that they have one

You know,— she said dreamily, passing over his question, —you're not nearly as handsome as Lord St.Vincent.—"There's a surprise," he said dryly."But for some reason," she continued, "I never want to kiss him the way I do you." It was a good thing that she had closed her eyes, for if she had seen his expression, she might not have continued. —There is something about you that makes me feel terribly wicked. You make me want to do shocking things. Maybe it's because you're so proper. Your necktie is never crooked, and your shoes are always shiny. And your shirts are so starchy. Sometimes when I look at you, I want to tear off all your buttons. Or set your trousers on fire.

since i will not send this, i also feel it is my duty to inform you that almost six months on I think I still love you and that makes me sad becaue love shouldn't feel this way. is like getting kicked in the stomach every time i think of you and it makes me want to roll my face across this keyboardbiu;///ubEWdcfhugiov'byhi;.//////-=—-0i9juh8ygtfdcsaazs34defg7uefg7u8hi9o0p8hi9o0p-[[09ju8dcsaazs34d9o0p-[[09.

Well enough,— I reply. "Remember, you're drunk. And happy. You're supposed to be lusting over your escort. Try smiling a little more." like I'm lusting? This is me, lusting.— His lashes flutter at me. better.

A man's true character comes out when he's drunk.