I don't know how I could have let this happen, but I am completely out of gin. I don't mean that the bottle is getting dangerously low; what I mean is, I don't have a single solitary drop left in the house. This may seem a trifle to you, but understand, dear readers, that my blogging strength flows from gin. Without it, there are no martinis. Without martinis, I'm powerless, reduced to a trembling, craven wretch. Already my senses begin to fail me. By this time tomorrow, I may be dead. Alas, my eyes are veiled by a grim, misty shadow. A spectral laugh curdles my blood. My dear, dead cat Mephistopheles awaits at the mouth of an endless tunnel, her little paw beckoning me towards who knows what end. Good god, why did I have to give her that infernal name?
Vodka, you say? Sure, I could drink vodka. While I'm at it, should I try breathing mayonnaise instead of air?
This could well be my last post.
Farewell, gentle McBoners.