He Even Slurs His Words in Text

Look who crawled out of a liquor bottle long enough to post an incoherent ramble filled with mispellings and poor grammar. Dear Reader: the Refugee is not, as his writing may lead you to believe, a third grader learning how to type. No, he is a proud member of the vulgar masses, a lousy drunkard who urinates in public and lowers the value of real estate through his mere presence. Lucky for you and me, however, he can be made to serve those above his unfortunate station on the social ladder. Hence, the main and driving point behind this blog, or bloog, as my co-idiot says: the food prepared by the Refugee for the enjoyment of myself and anyone else of higher birth who is in attendance. I understand your possible confusion. You may be wondering, where are the pictures of these glorious meals and how can I benefit from their posting on this blog? In due course, dear reader, in due course. With time, the postings will take shape, even if the Refugee never knows a sober moment or sex that does not involve a toothless streetwalker.

I'm being a bit harsh, I apologize. I understand and feel the Refugee's pain. If I had his lot in life, I'd hit the hooch pretty hard too. Yes, he's had it rough. Being tossed out of his home by mother nature, and stuck in low wage jobs that don't appreciate a keen mind. Luckily, his is not so keen, dampened by years of hard-living and VH1 marathons. Perhaps the Refugee will tell the woeful tale of his sad life. Another posting by the Refugee, however, is a dubious gift. Soaked in rage and alcohol, he can hardly be understood. He definitely can't be liked. Reading his rantings sours one's mood, for a few minutes at least. But, life is more than vintage varietals of red wine and gourmet cheeses. I understand this and you should too. Thus, the Refugee and a peek into his dark, dark world. At least the food is good.