Well there’s good news folks!
Yeah yeah. I got a roof over my head. I house sit now in fact. Sweet digs believe me. Yeppers — the xtreme couch surfer comes in for a landing. Smooth. Way. But whatever. Oh, right, I got a job too. Suffice to say that I am none too thrilled with that arrangement — but some would call it a Success. I call it a Temporary Affliction. I must say however that I do enjoy the Disposable Income angle of my new situation immensely.
I am as well as I’ve been at any time in my life. Better even. I can not describe the enormity of goodness I have witnessed of late. Something special has touched me. Socks? Shit daddy be sportin’ a fresh-bought spanking set of brand new mofokin shoes.
Good shit my friends.
But whatever. Yada ya.
The big news here is:
I think I might be an alcoholic again.
WHEW!
Just like I always hoped one day I would be.
Whoa nelly.
Sweet Jesus somebody pinch me!! Or better yet shoot me in the face. Maybe I ate the Brown Acid? I mean I must be freaking DREAMING!
Seriously this is one positively bona fide fuck of a major development.
Praise be.
But am I really? An actual drunkard I mean. Well let me see. It is Saturday morning — 12:53 PM to be precise. I finally quit bitching, a bit more than an hour back, about how there was no beer or scotch to drink — and poured myself a tumbler full of Grey Goose vodka ice cold. Ah. Well. Hally friggin lu-ya. Swoosh! Like a good morning Bloody Mary — minus the Tabasco, horseradish, Worcestershire sauce & V-8. Extraneous bullshit, that. Who needs it? Not me! Now my only Trouble on Earth is that the Goose flew the coop so to speak. I mean the vodka is all gone. Now What?? Guess I’ll have to drop some of my disposable income on a 6-er of Stella Artois. Only trouble is that my week’s pay has been well disposed of already. Yeah but who gives a fuck? Not me. I just borrowed $20 bucks to cover the Deal. Why not? My credit is good here.
Who WOO whoo. Go on take the money & run.
Can you feel the enormity?
Boy. That trip to the beer store was awesome dudes. I could have bought a bag of heroin while I was out — it’s like that here on the streets of our nation’s Capitol. I could have — but I did not. Not like I’m going Soft on ya’ll don’t get me wrong. I do what I wanna. And the fact just now was that I did not want a bag of heroin — or nothing of the sort. I wanted a cold six pack of beer.
Inadvertently I came home with a 12-pack. Now I ask: does that qualify me for alcoholism officially? I mean for real. Well I sure as fuck hope so! If for no reason other than to validate all I have strove so long for.
Never end a sentence in a preposition. Never jump off a moving train. These are just a few of the rules I have learned & broke skillfully in my time.
>>HST
Here’s the deal: ‘Long about 10 years ago I popped my first hit of Speed. Well Hot Damn I said. I could hang around & drink beer for the next 3 days straight! The pill had a chemically sweet after taste that curled clear to the pit of my gut. Like a taste I’d wasted the previous 29 years of my life waiting around to feel…
I mean I was relentlessly all about ‘dat shit motherfuckers!
And that is a verifiable Fact.
…Fast Forward 9 years.
Somewhere along the sleepless line I forgot Why I ever took that shit to begin with. I mean I quite literally forgot. Forgot, as in one day I found myself at the Bar with a large glass of tequila-based Beverage in my hand. A warm glass of tequila-based Beverage — that’s what was Wrong With That Picture.
“Warm.” I complained. “Ice please?”
“Fuck ice.” The bartender replied. He dumped out my warm drink in the sink. Whipped me up another juicy tequila-based beverage fresh & frosty cold. And, as per the established Norm, at no cost to me.
“Try not to forget to drink this one Mike E.”
My bartender admonished me.
Always listen to your favorite bartender. He knows what is best for you.
Try to not forget to drink.
Try? Shit. Wise green dude once say: Try Not!
Do.
I digress. The point here is that what happened was that — way back when — I dug the shit out of amphetamines because they could keep me awake & slugging down beers for the next 3 days straight. Which was solidly a day & a half longer than I’d been delightedly able to hang around & slug down beers previously. It was never specifically about the speed per se. Back then it was all about the booze baby.
Back in the good old days it was all about booze. A few bits of What Not on the side surely — but by this time any Saturday — back when it was real good — it really was all about booze.
But I forgot about all that somewhere along the line. A half-decade into my aforementioned amphetamine frenzy my cocktail got warm in my hand — I spaced the fuck out & quite literally forgot to drink it.
A heinous mistake.
Well my friends! I have now happily rectified that situation.
Got one? Clink beer bottle.
Cheers.
Drink to that.
Do.
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