Running For Clean Fun And Telling Assholes To Fuck Off Because I Can #imacunt
Hello Mothers. I hope you got all you wanted for Christmas you bunch of cunts.
I’m in a bad mood this morning as the strange Italian man I live with is singing ‘Where Is My Mind’ by The Pixies in the kitchen at 7am in the morning. I want to shout “GOOD FUCKING QUESTION SUNSHINE! GREETS FROM BLACK FRANCIS!” and proceed to smash his fucking brains in with a frying pan.
But I can’t do that as I like people and I’m a shining example of how a cunt can turn his life around with a bit of positivity.
Running like a cunt because I’m a cunt.
Anyway, for once I’ve been consistent with my running. Over the past 11 days I’ve ran 13 times and racked up 152k. My sobriety has brought about a new dawn of hope where I’m no longer terrified that I’m gonna fuck everything up with one bad weekend. I’m sick and tired and sore of that way of living and I feel embarrassed that I was so fucking blase about it.
I know I’m at danger of fucking this up every single day which is why I start each day with a pledge that I won’t drink just for today. Tomorrow I’m thinking of going out to the City with your mother for 12 pints of Victory and an arm-wrestle, but that’s tomorrow and today will bring enough trouble of it’s own.
This morning’s run was a bit hateful. Lots of early morning working bastards were out clogging the pavements at bus stops and since they were all standing around gormless with their fucking earphones in, I wanted to slap and punch my way home, but I can’t do that. Instead I did my impersonation of a swan choking to death on an Oreo to try to convince them to move the fuck over.
I was just so full of hate that it wasn’t even fun. I went through my usual list of “Bastards that I really hate” and just as I was getting to the end, a man in a cloth-cap said Morning! to me and I said Morning! back and I felt much better.
You know how clean and sober living is meant to make you chill out? I don’t know what’s wrong with me but I’m incapacitated with anger, but in a great and fun way. I bought a Peanut Butter Krispy Kreme donut at Liverpool Street station yesterday and was eating it as I came out of the concourse. Some arsehole hallion cunt prick bastard from Fitness First tried to leaflet me with a trial membership form and out of nowhere I just said “Yeah and you can fuck off too!”.
Such seething animosity. I’m going to get my head kicked in.