Problem/Solution/Com- plication

Problem: I've made steaks and roasted vegetables, two dips, four kinds of chips, and bought a thousand drinks, but no guests show up to the party.

Solution: Eat dips off my chest with chips, eat steaks in the bathtub, open a tin of anchovies, drink naked and talk to the moon.

Complication: The moon is a policeman's flashlight, and I was eating the steak off a Viagra kabob.
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A Goal

I assume that everything in moderation is the best path to a healthy, rewarding life, so I am moderately intoxicated. However, everyone needs an excess. If I had to choose an excess, I would choose an excess of happiness. What would I look like if I were excessively happy? I would probably do a lot of giggling and waving my hands in the air. I might drool or poop myself at times. That wouldn't matter. Hell, I wouldn't care what I looked like or smelled like. I would be submerged in a constant bath of pleasure, and angry people would secretly like me. That's a goal,

a ¡GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL!
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Writing Aids

Certainly I am asking for stomach problems. I write best when drinking coffee. I write second best when drinking Martinis followed by beer. I do not write well after eating.

Today I made usual first pot of Bustelo brand espresso coffee from Mexico. It comes in a vacuum packed brick. I do not use an espresso maker, but rather a conventional coffee pot. Upon finishing the rich nutty brew, it is my habit to stop writing and begin wasting time. I watch the Rachael Ray show. I read The Assimilated Negro, Defective Yeti, View from the Edge, and Informed Comment. I find that I am no longer wasting time, but finding solutions to the world's problems. I pleasure myself to de-stress from this.

But today, my hands shaking, I remembered my father's advice when I told him the above paragraph: "Why don't you make another pot?" So I did, and today has been my most productive writing day since I was trapped on a family vacation in August with no cigarettes except the Virginia Slims menthol 120's that I stole from my uncle, who lost a leg in Vietnam (and considering the brand of cigarettes, he may have lost more than that).

Anal virginity. But why stop here?

I have eaten two Triscuits and two brown rice cakes. I sip my Martini, which I have made with Finlandia vodka in a 6:1 vodka to vermouth ratio. There is a single olive floating in the drink. Normally I would put in two olives, but these olives have been in the refrigerator, opened, for a year or more. My scientific instinct tells me that mold and certain bacteria cannot grow in a very saline environment such as olive brine, but if that's wrong there's no need to be doubly sick. Or considering the hangover as a 2x multiplier, quadruply sick.

Now that I'm done insisting that these things help me write, what shall I write about?
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