Your Harsh Reality
YOUR drinking is becoming a problem. Not to you maybe, but to your work-mates, flat-mates and girlfriend it is beyond a joke.
Most people don’t have two cans of super lager with their dinner and move on to spirits afterwards.
Your lucky anti-alcohol drug (favoured by George Best) is ant-abuse.

YOU’RE reading this hoping for some sort of guidance, aren’t you? This is your problem: you are a hesitant, indecisive wreck.
It shouldn’t take fifteen minutes to decide which flavour of noodles to buy, just take the plunge. They’re full of E numbers anyway.
Your lucky part of the anatomy is the scrotum, particularly shaven ones.

LISTENING to bands that no one else has ever heard of doesn’t make you cutting edge and cool, just rather pretentious and socially inept.
Your band aren’t ahead of their time, just shit. Your lucky CD is Wham’s Greatest Hits.

STOP sneakily picking your arse at work. It isn’t the way to the office beauty’s heart. At the very least stop sniffing and biting your nails afterwards. I say this as a former addict to a soul in need of help. Your lucky item is hand wash. Antibacterial – one can’t be too safe.

THE world does not always want to know your staggeringly obvious and inane pearls of wisdom. Forever dispensing free advice is the quickest way to a hate club and ultimately a sore jaw.
Take a look at the crumbling wreck that is your own life. Your lucky lip position is sealed.

WHERE did it all go wrong? You are living next to the beach, with a gorgeous girl and doing your dream job. So smile you miserable bastard. Count your blessings not your curses. Your lucky virtue is to be thankful.

EVER thought of reading a book?
No, Razzle and Playboy don’t count. Doing nothing but vegging out and watching unbearable pap like Grey’s Anatomy or any of the 101 cop/detective shows that habitually pollute Australian airwaves is making your pub conversation rather tiresome. Your lucky book is by Jilly Cooper.

YES getting drunk on a first date can loosen things up but you don’t want to drink so much that you actually loosen your bowels all over your potential fuck-buddy’s couch.
Urine and shit are not – to most normally functioning people – a potent aphrodisiac. Your lucky Victorian obsession is temperance.

YOU may think it’s a good idea to put a picture of you oiling your naked torso onto a seedy website in the hope of riding some minging bored housewife.
However, if these pictures were to fall into the wrong hands, your mates would ensure you never have sex again. Your lucky aftershave is Sex Panther, works 60 per cent of the time – every time.

YOUR hypochondriac whingeing is becoming tedious to friends, family and the local GP.
Yes he is paid to make sick people better but why don’t you stop to think that your dodgy guts and headache might be down to your prodigious intake of Guiness and vindaloos.
Give the guy a break, some people are really sick. Your lucky annoying website is Twitter.

UNLIKE Capricorn you are too embarrassed to go to the doctor.
Three testicles isn’t normal and doesn’t make you more of a man. It’s a serious problem that you should get checked out. Your lucky phone call is to Medicare.

DO YOU find doing nothing fun, lazing on the beach, living off daddy’s money fulfilling in any way?
Ok, you smug bastard, if
you can, live off the cash of your inheritance.
Your lucky rehab clinic is Betty Ford.

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