Pass The Courvoisier

A sore retreat I think is in order today, not due to Jeremy's raucous birthday party last night at Chester's, but after enduring a haze of ecclesiastical drawl this morning. It had to be THE worst day of church I've ever borne, the message a theological gargle and babble in my head, worse than any ignoramus's opinion. The chagrin in my head is worse than any hangover alcohol might impart, and to sit quietly while the preacher blathered, leaving me with a migraine. To think of the things I could've been doing while I sat in musty pews, every part slipping out of kilter as my mettle turned into dross, horrified as I saw centuries of wisdom liquidated before my very eyes. Someone get me a drink, please!