01-10-2019, 08:49 PM
In no way was Leroy Starkweather a boozer.
An inconsiderate fussbudget? A quick-tempered milksop? A fathead lacking any patience whatsoever?
Those, the Guardsman was indeed, and he wore them with pride, akin to a champion wrestler and his title belt.
Nevertheless, a good-for-nothing befuddled boozer the male was not. Drinking away the aches and pains and remorseless displeasures of life is not in his nature - that was the coward’s way out, and just like a drunkard, he was not a coward. Much rather, he would face those that ail him with such ferocity, they could not see him coming. Why was getting completely plastered every now and then frowned upon by today’s society?
Thus, tonight’s drinkfest was not caused by a significant event of blue funk. The pressures of inter-group relations had nothing on the mongrel, nor did the many comings and goings of faces that he had not taken the time to meet personally. Perhaps this was not the case for his comrades, yet as of late, Leroy inhabited a world of his own leisure. It was a world tha blocked out the harsh, lousy nature of the outside realm, allowing one to wallow in nothing but their own thoughts and material goods. And if someone were to judge, let them; their trivial critiques had no value in his personal plane.
Apparently, time had moved on out there whilst the hound hung around in his rinky-dink hut. A new year rung in, leaving the last one to exist absolutely nowhere, except in memory. Memories did not last for eternity, though, and soon enough, when all intellegent creatures of this age moved on, 2018 would be forgotten. Tonight’s drinkfest was not in celebration of the past year.
Memories were the foundation for failure, and anyone who saw otherwise was a fool. One can not base the future’s potential on past events, for the future is a chaotic bumbling force that is unable to be predicted. And only insanity awaited those who immersed themselves in visions of the olden days. Thus, tonight’s drinkfest was not for the memories.
It was a “huzzah” the party. One could not predict the future, and living in the past was not adequate. The only remaining option was a thank you to the good times to be had in the present day. And so it was.
The doors had been opened, the worlds collided. Out of his personal pocket of reality, did he prudently step. The problems of reality were welcomed once again, as the canine made himself present for the first time in quite a whiles.
Someone had to inform Tanglewood of tonight’s drinkfest.
It was not completely based on alcohol, tonight’s celebration. The nickname drinkfest only came to life to make the cause seem a tad more fun. Whiskeys, ales, wines, and other beverages that a quadruped like himself should not consume lay on smaller coffee table, while various munchies (including the signature ‘Tanglewood S’more’) were hastily placed on a timeworn ottoman. And, of course, non-alcoholic beverages were available for the pansies.
Now he’d wait. Anticipating the groans in reaction to his presence, and his barely-cleaned environment. The groans and moans he had gotten used to, and tonight was a night for getting messy, so whomever criticizes the unwholesomeness wasn’t seeing things clearly.
An inconsiderate fussbudget? A quick-tempered milksop? A fathead lacking any patience whatsoever?
Those, the Guardsman was indeed, and he wore them with pride, akin to a champion wrestler and his title belt.
Nevertheless, a good-for-nothing befuddled boozer the male was not. Drinking away the aches and pains and remorseless displeasures of life is not in his nature - that was the coward’s way out, and just like a drunkard, he was not a coward. Much rather, he would face those that ail him with such ferocity, they could not see him coming. Why was getting completely plastered every now and then frowned upon by today’s society?
Thus, tonight’s drinkfest was not caused by a significant event of blue funk. The pressures of inter-group relations had nothing on the mongrel, nor did the many comings and goings of faces that he had not taken the time to meet personally. Perhaps this was not the case for his comrades, yet as of late, Leroy inhabited a world of his own leisure. It was a world tha blocked out the harsh, lousy nature of the outside realm, allowing one to wallow in nothing but their own thoughts and material goods. And if someone were to judge, let them; their trivial critiques had no value in his personal plane.
Apparently, time had moved on out there whilst the hound hung around in his rinky-dink hut. A new year rung in, leaving the last one to exist absolutely nowhere, except in memory. Memories did not last for eternity, though, and soon enough, when all intellegent creatures of this age moved on, 2018 would be forgotten. Tonight’s drinkfest was not in celebration of the past year.
Memories were the foundation for failure, and anyone who saw otherwise was a fool. One can not base the future’s potential on past events, for the future is a chaotic bumbling force that is unable to be predicted. And only insanity awaited those who immersed themselves in visions of the olden days. Thus, tonight’s drinkfest was not for the memories.
It was a “huzzah” the party. One could not predict the future, and living in the past was not adequate. The only remaining option was a thank you to the good times to be had in the present day. And so it was.
The doors had been opened, the worlds collided. Out of his personal pocket of reality, did he prudently step. The problems of reality were welcomed once again, as the canine made himself present for the first time in quite a whiles.
Someone had to inform Tanglewood of tonight’s drinkfest.
It was not completely based on alcohol, tonight’s celebration. The nickname drinkfest only came to life to make the cause seem a tad more fun. Whiskeys, ales, wines, and other beverages that a quadruped like himself should not consume lay on smaller coffee table, while various munchies (including the signature ‘Tanglewood S’more’) were hastily placed on a timeworn ottoman. And, of course, non-alcoholic beverages were available for the pansies.
Now he’d wait. Anticipating the groans in reaction to his presence, and his barely-cleaned environment. The groans and moans he had gotten used to, and tonight was a night for getting messy, so whomever criticizes the unwholesomeness wasn’t seeing things clearly.
