Good day! I have just found out about this communal journal. I am, of course, the most talked about bro' at Miskatonic, Herbert West. Most of my writings are in my lab notebooks, so I shall merely relate an anecdote.

At our House Party two weeks past, there came a moment in the evening when, having imbibed continuously for several hours, the group found itself without further supplies of ale, lager, or whisky. I could not allow the group to disband, as I was attempting to shew a young woman a good time. I recalled a bottle that I had found on one of my late night... perambulations, shall we say. The town drunk had been buried with a bottle of his favorite whisky, it appears. There was also a rack of thirty of his favorite beers, but I imagine they were skunk'd.

Either way, I summoned the nearest pledge and instructed him to retrieve that foul bottle. My eyes began to grow weary, though I fought the onset of sleep with all the determination which I could summon in my state. Alas, I must have drifted into slumber, for the next thing I remember is awaking in a pool of spilled stout. Enuresis may have occurred, I don't wish to speak of it, though.

I returned to my room, and found that the insolent pledge was still rooting in my steamer trunk. "Come now!" I said, "The whisky is no good to me now, and if you insist on taking the 'hair-of-the-dog' please use your own supplies!" I kicked him swiftly in the rear, sending his body sprawling. It was then that I saw that where his head should have rested, there was nought but a pulpy stump!

An incomplete body being useless to me, I tossed his corpse into the gorge.