SELF-HELP FOR THE ORNERY

What do I do to stave off depression on weekends or late in the evening, when I've come to the office for solitude?
And how do I keep from even thinking of opening the window at thirteen floors up, taking a running jump, and going shplat?
Well, either I think of nice eyes, small hands, and other characteristics of charming persons of a female persuasion (entirely in the abstract, you understand), or I turn to youtube and play pompous music.


One of my current favourites is this:

Black Watch March Past Dundee

[SOURCE: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uyD370_mv5c. ]

It always does the trick. I'm particularly fond of the short trombone player (from 1:01 to 1:04) in the center row of the guards' band, who seems entirely dwarfed by both her instrument and her big hairy headgear.
At least, I assume it's a 'her'.
Can't even see a face.

Besides, the sight of stocky men in skirts resolutely swishing past, with that dance-like bounce to their step, is incredibly invigorating.
Makes one thoroughly understand the appeal of empire building, doesn't it?

After playing the clip above, or youtubes of a rousing anthem or war-song, several times, it's all much better.
I follow that by heading over to the Occidental Cigar Club for a glass of Scotch and a pipe or two. Two or three bowls of rubbed flake or aged Virginia later, and I'm full of piss and vinegar again.
With a bit of luck, I will have played evil mind-tricks on some pretentious expensive stogie-sucking dick, who will for days afterwards be wondering what the heck happened, and why he's filled with incredible self-loathing.


Here's slàinte mhath, y'all.


Cheers.


REASSURING AFTER WORD

No, ending it all is not likely, despite the grim note that began this post.
For one thing, I'm too stubborn to give in.
For another, it would set a really dreadful example.
I'll just keep my pecker up by spreading misery to the deserving.

Stiff upper lip and all that.


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