All copy, and no paste make way for dull ploys

It was here that I was
waylaid by the stagnancy of the humdrum, sitting on
this stool
gutshot and then some. Then some
tinnitus of a long ago
bender began
ringing in my head like some hipster with his Iphone
on the old phone.
A dead one at that,
ringer: I am a dead ringer for the guy that had a good time, but now I despise one.
A disguise from long ago, donning
my party hat nowadays is tantamount
to drinking a beer in the shower
and living dangerously is drinking that beer from a glass bottle. Half throttle,
then full power pulling me down
like a three year old
reaching for a box of Cookie Crisp.
Hucking nips,
out the window on the drive home from another shift
and at the crux of it, I am loving it.
I rarely write now that I am happy. I have my irksome peccadilloes all the same, but with a lady in your life they become compartmentalized. Switch persons in the same sentence that I had commuted when I wrote the Inklinks, which are gone now. It really is all the same. This is a blog. blah blog.

All happiness, and no complaints make Dave a dull writer. All happiness, and no complaints make Dave a dull writer. All happiness, and no complaints make Dave a dull writer. All happiness, and no complaints make Dave a dull writer. All happiness, and no complaints make Dave a dull writer. All happiness, and no complaints make Dave a dull writer. All happiness, and no complaints make Dave a dull writer. All happiness, and no complaints make Dave a dull writer. All happiness, and no complaints make Dave a dull writer. All happiness, and no complaints make Dave a dull writer. All happiness, and no complaints make Dave a dull writer. All happiness, and no complaints make Dave a dull writer. All happiness, and no complaints make Dave a dull writer. All happiness, and no complaints make Dave a dull writer. All happiness, and no complaints make Dave a dull writer.