
It’s 24 July, 2009. It’s been a funny week in FRONT towers – we’ve frantically scribbled and cut’n'sticked our way to the new issue, which you’ll be hearing much more about next week, and then pretty much everyone’s sodded off for a long weekend. Honestly, there’s four of us – FOUR – in the office right now. Total words said to each other stands at about 57. We’re all so lonely…
What better way to cure said loneliness, though, than with glorious, sexy alcohol. Who needs friends when you’ve got a pint of chop-juice in your hands on a Friday night, eh? Let’s all get so steaming arse-knuckled, so painfully fuck-faced, so damagingly fart-brained that we start talking to crazy pub strangers, attempting to chat up beautiful ladies and, eventually, talking to our own elbow as if it was a mate we’ve not seen in years. We’ll see you on Monday, but we’ll leave you with a pumpkin being sick, Chucky from the Rugrats, and a woman farting underwater.
Check it out… »