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Wednesday morning.
I don't think Spike was back from his sordid, sorry affairs with Steph. Still reeling from the night before's adventures, I ate a pathetic breakfast of soggy eggs and half-cooked bacon. After uneasily heaping it into my mouth with three succint spoonfulls, I let a tear well in my eye before painfully squeezing it away. Soon after, I did a similiar thing with a fart.
After breakfast and a shit I went downstairs to whittle away my hours with the pinball machine in the hotel lobby. Nine hours and $34 later, I dragged my pimply, loser arse back upstairs for a nap. Fuck, 34 bucks.

I must've been too busy zapping my multi-balls into hyperspace to notice Spike finally make it back, because when I opened the door, there he was: back. That $34 was my dinner for that evening, and of course I hadn't eaten for 9 hours, so I was pretty starving and pissed. I had no choice but to take it out of someone's anus...
"Get away from me, you putrescent, pugnacious pugilist!" trembled Spike as I kicked the Dictionary out of his hands. Sitting on his head, I farted. It was pretty funny.
"So what did you do after I lost you at Hungry's last night?" the damaged little boy said as I toyed with his nipples, unaware of the jealousy-inducing recall of events it might provoke. Sparing the little fag a tear-session over how much chicks hate his guts, I made up some lie about buying an outrageously raunchy yet witty T-shirt that later got stolen by a pack of wild homeboyz.

"Fuck man. Surfer's Paradise... it's more like Gangsta's Paradise!" exclaimed Spike, in a rare moment of not completely retarded thought. After punching him in the guts a little softer than I normally would, I thought 'fuck this' and went to bed.

As I walked in the direction of my bedroom, I stopped dead in my tracks when I heard the TV. It was the hauntingly familiar sound of John Deacon, Roger Taylor, Brian May and Freddy Mercury asking themselves the immortal question: Is this the real life?

Turning on my heel, I saw them. I'm not sure how many of you lucky folks saw the same Queen special as I did, but let me tell you: wow. Luminaries such as Boomtown Rats' Bob Geldoff, Foo Fighters' Taylor Hawkins and Reggie Dwight's Elton John regailed us all with anecdotes of how Queen has touched their lives.
Sadly, that's about all I remember of it. I think they mentioned there were naked chicks in one of Queen's film clips, and Freddy Mercury liked champagne, and that wasn't actually his real name. And the mebers of Queen neither confirmed or denied that Queen had a midget walk around Queen headquarters with a bowl of cocaine on his head. Pretty clever idea if you ask me.
Wish I could afford a midget.

After that, I went to bed, dreaming of midgets and Reggie Dwight.