No I'm not.

Giant mousse-coloured mooseheads. They're everywhere these days...its hard. Particularly at Christmas. I should be thinking about friends and family and food. But all there is...is mooseheads. I think one fractured my skull last night. It was one of those singing ones, you know the type, all 'look at me, listen to me, look at me'. But all I wanted to do was eat her. So I did and I think an antler cleft my palette and stormed my brain. The TV went blank. It was playing an African game with me. The one where you keep pressing the button until you are either trampled by a single water buffalo or jumped on by several serval cats. I prefer the latter almost exclusively and luckily last night, thats how it worked out. When they were bounding around I couldn't stop laughing. I didn't want to. So I didn't and I was sick. My vomit was chock-a-block with fucking mooseheads. The toilet was full of mooseheads. And they were all the singing ones. I had my beard just the right length for them to hide in as well so when I went back to my brother he couldn't see them and he didn't believe that they even existed. I could feel their moosehead laughter vibrating in my beard as I shouted myself hoarse trying to make him understand. And you know the problem with shouting yourself hoarse is that you actually turn into a Shetland Pony. I love having the shaggy mane and stuff, its very endearing, but I can't drink wine unless its put in a bowl and my brother prefers not to keep bowls in his house because he hates rice. So I whispered myself human again and finished off the bottle.