Receiving your first paycheck after a prolonged spell of being perfectly penniless is a bit like being released from a stint in the slammer.
Where yesterday your options were limited to a view of the same uninspiring four walls, grazing on the same sapless slop and conjuring sexual gratification with the same right hand, has today been replaced with a future rich with optimistic potential.
Where the four uninspiring walls once stood, taking perverse thrill in their sadistic task, now stands an almighty opening in which to excitably bound about like a little puppy after a large nostril full of industrial strength Bolivian marching dust.
The sapless slop has been discarded and in its place a spread has been appointed which is so eloquent in its diversity that you find yourself foregoing contemporary dining table decorum in favour of greedily tearing into the feast like a lion ripping out the innards of a fucking wilder beast.
The severely calloused right hand which once affectionately went by 'Sandra' and displayed remarkable staying power whilst skillfully assisting the conduction of some 15 wanks per day, is now used to operate a 12 inch black rubber dildo with which to beat away playful Asian ladies fighting for first dibs on your knob.
So there we stood, mouths a-gape, as our employer dispensed bill after bill of hard currency into our hands which were sweating with a mixture of awe, excitement and a portion of fear bringing up the rear.
Look at it! It's real life fucking money! Quickly! We must spend it at once!
Mine went in twelve hedonistic hours on a charming little cocktail of drugs, alcohol and prostitutes, whilst my acquaintance opted for a toned down diet of drugs, alcohol and a freebie courtesy of a bedraggled masseuse who slept on the beach.
I was in a little pub the following evening cursing myself for being so incredibly fucking idiotic when a distressed lady of the evening beckoned me to come hither.
"Friend you! Friend you!" she said.
" Friend me? What the fuck are you talking about?" I replied.
"He's acting a little erratically" came what her response should have been, although when she said it, it was more like "hifithhhuugieuhgrghifancyafucklove?"
Of course he's fucking acting erratically.
Our current location was a sun-kissed tropical paradise and erratic people behaving erratically was somewhat a given. The ratio of civilized holiday-makers enjoying sophisticated evening strolls in the surf to obnoxious reprobates on a two week rampage during which they would 'smash the fuckin loife outta the local cahnt', favoured the latter quite alarmingly. It was like living on a fucking council estate with a beach next to it.
Nevertheless, the pleading in this young lady's eyes suggested that the problem lay well beyond the realms of a drunken punch up and a deeper, more profound evil had befallen the fellow.
Very well then, young harlot. I shall sit pillion on your motorcycle whilst you escort me to the scene but expect some concentrated frottering en route.
We arrived and I was guided to the location of my acquaintance.
There he stood. A solitary figure swaying from side to side down a very dark and dirty alley.
I fell to my knees and started slapping the pavement, positively weeping with laughter.
He'd managed to pass-out standing up, and the local populace feared the undead had come out to feed.
Splendid work, old chap, simply SPLENDID!