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Cliched diary of a Rock Star

It's Wednesday, or...maybe it's Thursday or even Friday. aw fuck it, who cares. ...had 2 or was it 3 hourse sleep last night, still a few stiff drinks and a sleeper speed me on the way. Gotta catch a fucking plane, dead on me feet, these do you spell it one or two e's as fuckit. Flight was boring when you’re 'up', so a creper rounded off the edges and a lot of drink takes a bit of the coton wool out of me mouth. But booze, Jesus I must have drank a bottle of Vodka, so I took a small tab of acid which made me feel all tingly and good. Need a pik-up, so a quick snif', line of two of coke ... bring the old brain to attention while you smoke some grass or hash to take the nervines out of the coke. Then, as you’re begining to feel a bit tacky by the time the flight’s over, and the hotel is found, and it’s gig time ... a snort of methedrine and a big tobaco joint spliff puts you on stage. "Fuck me, that was some gig. What darling, autograph? come in here and I will sign it for you,personal likr."

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