Nah: lunchtime/wake up, instant coffee, warm up the desktop and clear yesterday's history. After using a cleaning device, do a search for their usernames on The Isle. Smoke a few cigarettes (to start the coughing which clears the lungs of last night's smoke signals to nobody in particular) and crack open a tin of Dutch Gold and check out any new uploads on their pornographic site of choice. Quick clean-up, reset computer, turn off, pull plug, count to then, plug it back in, do another cleaning of history, sign in to the gay bar site and commence today's battle after fetching another three tins of Dutch Gold so they don't have to get up again for an hour or so.
Quick break after a three-hour stint of replying to every post made while they were passed out, then scour the papers for anything to yap and moan about. Open a tin of Dutch Gold, roll a spliff of soap-bar hash and get monged. Go mental screaming Mowl, Mowl, ROC, David, etc. By early evening they're already pissed drunk, so we sit back and watch the fragile harmony of these fools collapse as they turn on each other while foaming at the mouth. Wait for someone, anyone, to mention David, Athy, Helen, Mowl, Rachel, ROC, the Cap'n, or anything to do with the Isle and they all congregate around the offending posts and then start in with the intra-site bullshit.
Repeat all day every day for decades and now you're getting close to understanding how these wretches live.
These guys slag you off for not staying in on Friday night to have rows with total strangers.
Then they do it again on Saturday night: 'ha! no posts on the Isle since 2030 - shower of losers'.
By Monday morning they're in dire need of a weekend's break.
Mental.