Sunday, January 24, 2010

Jessica's Ass

I didn’t know what to say. My mind went blank for a minute. I took a sip of my beer and felt better.
“Go fuck yourself”, I said. “Grab your shit and get the fuck out of my goddamn house!” I was an asshole.
“Fuck you! You call yourself a man? You’re a low-life! You don’t have what it takes to be a man!”
“I am more of a man than anyone you’ve ever been with! You’re just a whore! I bet you were a whore in high school! I bet you were a whore when your daddy read you stories as a little girl!”
“You’re disgusting! I hate you! I hate you! I wish I never met you!” She stormed out with only half of her belongings. As the door shut I imagined a coffin closing. I need her. I love her. I finished my beer and went to bed.
I woke up the next morning to the phone ringing.
“I need to get the rest of my things.”
“What for?”
“I’m moving into Jessica’s apartment for a while.”
“Jessica’s a skank.”
“See! You can’t go 2 minutes without acting like an asshole!”
“You need people like me!” I yelled. “To point your fucking fingers, and say…”
“Just stop it! I’ll be by in an hour and I would like it if you weren’t there!” She hung up.
Interesting, I thought, being told to leave my own house. I walked into the bathroom to take a piss. Before lifting the toilet seat I looked into the mirror, “Asshole,” I said. I flushed, washed my hands and combed my hair and slowly made it into the kitchen. I knew I wouldn’t be able to eat anything because of the hangover so I gathered up all the beer bottles from the night before and poured the remaining beer from each of them into a glass. I was broke. I could apply to jobs that I didnt want; I could work for companies that I didnt have to work for; I could even go to school and end up making more than three people make combined; but whats the point? I was content collecting unemployment cheques and having just enough money for alcohol, cigarettes, and some food. I mainly ate sliced bread folded with beans stuffed into the middle. On Sundays I'd walk to the local shelter and pretend I was homeless to get a couple cans of beans for free. It was worth the effort.
I could hear someone struggling to open the front door for a few seconds and then it opened.
"I thought I told you not to be here."
"What’s the matter, no hello?"
"After all the shit you've done to me, you think you deserve a hello?"
"How bout a blowjob?"
"Ugh, you're hopeless." She walked into the bedroom.
"How long are you going to stay at Jessica's for?" I asked. She didnt answer. "Do you think you could lend me a little bit of cash to get me through the day?"
She walked back into the living room with the rest of her things. "You mean to get you drunk for the day?"
"No. Why do you always have to be so aggressive? Here, have a sip of my beer, its fresh."
"Why do you always have to be so drunk?"
"Im not drunk. A man has to eat and I dont get my cheque until tomorrow morning. Im starving."
"Fine," she said. "This is all the cash I have." She handed me $20.
"You see, we fight and fight over nothing. Add a little money into the mix, and were fine," I said.
"No. Were far from fine and we dont fight over nothing. We fight because you're an asshole and all you do is sit on you're goddamn couch drinking beer. I cant take it anymore."
"I think you just need to relax. Youre too up tight."
"I'm not up tight! I just cant take anymore of your shit! I have to go. Jessica is waiting outside in the car."
"Jessica is here? Well tell her to come inside! You know how much I like her ass. Plus, I heard she puts out."
"You're awful!" she screamed. "Just awful! Jessica hates you, she always has! I hate you! Most of your friends hate you!" She walked out and shut the door. I didnt imagine a coffin this time. I sat back on the couch and finished the glass of beer. I thought of Jessica's ass.

Saturday, January 23, 2010


Let’s face it, sobriety is boring. Sure, you can try to have fun, but without drugs or alcohol (or both on some occasions) you have to actually do things. You have to go out, spend money, plan things, make some phone calls, and worst of all, you usually will end up talking to a lot of people you don’t even know. Some people consider that fun, but I consider that an act of rape on my soul. I don’t take too kindly to people, frankly, I just don’t like them. The difference with drugs and alcohol is, you don’t have to do any of that. You could sit at home on the floor and have a good time. There’s no unnecessary run around to gain happiness and a certain level of enjoyment. I’ve heard a lot of people ask me, "Do you only write about drinking and drugs? Can't you write about anything else?" Its questions like these that feed my hatred towards most human beings. There are very few occasions that I don’t have a drink in my hand when I write. Hell, there are very few times PERIOD that I don’t have a drink in my hand. So really, almost everything I write is going to involve substance abuse in one way or another. Although I’ve slowly cut down on the drugs, they still linger around the odd night. I used to be heavy into the drug scene till one day I told myself, "I need to get my priorities straight. I’m not a drug addict, I’m an alcoholic." And that was that.

It was a sunny afternoon around 2pm and I had just woken up. I was hung over like most of the time I woke up but after so many times the subnormal mornings were the ones when I wasn’t hung over. I could only remember bits and pieces of the night before, which led me to believe it was a great night. I could breathe out of my nose perfectly and still had some cash in my wallet so I knew I didn’t get into any cocaine. Everything seemed OK except for the intense headache that kept pounding at my temples. There was no way it was caused by the alcohol alone, so I decided to phone my buddy Richard since it was his house I was drinking at the previous night.
He picked up the phone but it was silent. “Rich?" No answer. "Wake up Rich!”
“Hey, yeah... what’s up?” he mumbled.
“Not much man. Just feeling a little fucked up from last night. I feel like a god damned train wreck. I probably look like one too.”
He laughed and then began coughing; he was a chronic cigar smoker. “It was a wild night,” he said. “I’m surprised we’re still alive.”
“I usually say that every morning. We’ll probably die by the time we’re 30.”
“I give myself another 2 years max.”
“You might be able to squeeze in a 3rd.”
“I hope not.”
“I agree. But anyways, the reason I’m calling so early is to ask you what kind of shit we got ourselves into last night?”
“Unleaded? What do you mean unleaded?”
“Dude, we drank a shitload of gasoline last night.”
“What the fuck?! Why the hell would we drink gasoline?!”
“”Why do we do any of the things we do?”
“Holy shit, that can’t be good for the body.”
“Probably not. There was one point when I looked over and something must have snapped in your brain. All of the sudden you picked up the bucket of gas and slammed back almost a whole liter of it. Then, not even 10 seconds later you puked it back up all over the carpet. I’m not sure if it was the vomit or just the fact you drank gasoline that ruined your chances with this chick you were working on, but it was worth it."
“Holy shit! That does sound like it was worth it. That also explains how messed up my head is right now. Where did we even get the gas from?”
“My lawnmower. I don’t know what we were thinking. Im pretty sure we ran out of beer after the liquor stores were closed."
“Well, at least I didn’t put anything up my nose. A little gasoline never hurt anybody.”
“Yeah, we’ll be alright. The Indians on the East Coast huff the shit day and night. I haven’t heard of any of them dying yet.”
“I’m sure we’ve put worse things into our body. Lets just not make this a habit, alright?”
“Deal,” Rich said.
“How bout’ we head down to the casino and catch some breakfast and play a few hands?”
“Sounds good to me. Pick me up in 20 minutes, I need to shower first.”
“Alright, see ya then.” I hung up and went to the fridge to chug back some water to regain some life. I knew we’d be drinking heavily the minute we walked into that damn casino.

I drove up in front of Richard’s place and pulled over to the sidewalk. Sure enough, he comes out holding a tall Budweiser.
“Goddamn! I need a real drink. This warm beer tastes like shit,” he said.
“Let me get a swig of that.” I took a big pull and nearly finished what was left.
“That does taste like shit,” I said. “Reach into the back seat, I think I got a bottle of rum somewhere.”
“Atta boy.”
He found the bottle and we passed it back and forth on the drive down to the casino. It took about 20 minutes to get there and by that time we had finished the entire bottle. We slowly made it across the parking lot with the intention of winning money and getting pissed drunk for free. We walked inside, got ID'd by the asshole at the front door-which does in fact make you feel young-but not in a good way. It makes you feel like a virgin again that's never touched a pair of tits. Anyways, Richard immediately threw 20 bucks down at the blackjack table. Win. I put down 40 like an idiot. Lose.
"Fuck this, I need a drink. You're buying the first round you lucky son of a bitch."
He put down another 20. Win. "I'll get the 2nd round too," he said.
"You dirty bastard!"
"Excuse me, sir, could you watch your language at the table?" the dealer politely asked me.
"I just lost 40 bucks in 3 seconds, so I'll give you two choices. You can either give it back, and I'll clean up the language, or you can suck my di-"
"Sorry, we're leaving!" Richard said as he pulled me away from the table. "What the fuck man! I just doubled my money off that prick. Don't screw this up, its the only blackjack table open right now. Lets go get a couple of drinks and hopefully they'll switch dealers."

We walked over to the bar and I sat down at a table while Richard ordered our drinks. A fine little blond sat at the table next to me.
"Any luck today darlin?" I asked.
"A little bit," she said. "I'm thinkin of workin the craps tables. How bout' you?"
"I pulled in a couple hundred at blackjack. Let me buy you a drink, we'll celebrate."
"Sure. Get me a screwdriver, double."
"Sounds good, I'll be right back."
I'd sure like to screw something right now, I thought. I walked over to the bartender where Richard was waiting for our drinks.
"Whats taking you so long?" I asked him.
"There was a lineup."
"Well, do you mind sitting over here for a bit?"
"You think you got a shot with that blond? You don't have a chance."
"Why do you say that?"
"She was at the party last night. Its only a matter of minutes before she remembers you puking on the carpet after chugging gasoline."
"Oh shit! Are you sure?"
"Yeah, man. Her name's Gloria. I'm not sure who she came to the party with, but I remember meeting her."
"I don't think she'll remember me,” I said. “After all, she is a blond."
"A damn fine blond, so don't fuck it up! You got 20 minutes." He walked over to the end of the bar and sat down.
I ordered a couple screwdrivers, double, and went back to Gloria.
"There you go." I said as I put the drinks on the table.
"Thanks a lot!"
"No problem. So, what's your name?"
"Gloria," she said. "And what do people call you?"
"I feel like I've met you before," she said. "You look familiar."
A rush of paranoia came over me. "Uh, well, I guess I just have a familiar face. I would've remembered meeting you."
"You look like a drinker. You probably don't remember very many people."
"Well, I am a drinker, you're right. But I'd remember someone that looks as good as you."
"I'm flattered, but I should also tell you that I have a boyfriend, so this drink is as far as we'll go."
"I'm not interested in your boyfriend. I'm interested in you."
"You're funny," she said. "What do you do for a living?"
"I used to be a city worker but I quit to try to make it as a writer."
"How's that working out for you?"
"Well, I haven't made any real money yet. I make more here at the casino. What do you do?"
"I'm a dental assistant. It's alright I guess. I only work 3 days a week and make enough to pay the rent and play the tables here."
"A real gambler eh? Do you like to fuck and drink a lot as well?"
"Excuse me?"
I could feel the rum and vodka flying through my head like a bat out of hell. "Never mind, can you get the next round?"
"I thought we were celebrating with your profits?"
"Well, that depends."
"On what?"
"How long you plan to sit here before going back to my place."
"Look, you seem like a nice guy, but I already told you I have a boyfriend and these drinks are as far as I'll go. I'm sorry."
"Oh, cut the shit! We both knew what we were getting into the moment you accepted the drinks. Now, be a doll and come back to my place for a bit."
"You're very persistent, aren't you?"
"With women and alcohol, yes."
"What about gambling?"
"Persistence won't help with that."
"What will?"
"A good woman and a lot of booze."
"I like how straight forward you are," she said. "You don't bullshit."
I could hear an echo of laughter in my head. "I don't lie to women, and I wouldn't bullshit you." Now I was just putting on a show. I looked over to see if Richard was still at the bar but he was gone.
"How far away is your place?" she asked.
"It's only a few blocks from here. Did you drive?"
"Yes, I parked in the underground."
"OK, lets take your car then."
"Didn't you drive?"
"No, I always walk here. I'm a bit of a fitness freak." The button on my pants fell off as I stood up.
"You don't look that fit..."
"Babe, I got the body of an athlete hidden underneath these clothes." My stomach started slowly climbing over my belt. "We better hurry up before my pants fall down."
"Oh baby!" she yelled. She had no idea about the button.

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Sleeping On The Couch

I had just gotten home from the bar. It was late and I was tired.
"Where were you?"
"I was at the bar," I said.
"With who?"
"Why does it matter?"
"I guess it doesn’t, nothing does," she said in a nasty tone.
"Alright." I sat down on the couch beside her. She was a good woman; short, brunette, with big tits, a big ass, and a tiny waist; just how I like it. I picked up the remote for the TV and changed the channel.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"I was watching my show."
"I hate that show."
"I don’t give a shit. You go out all night drinking and come home and expect to run this place like I don’t even exist. I only exist when you’re horny."
"Are you asking me to fuck you?" I said. I was a cheeky bastard.
"Oh go to hell!" She stormed out of the room. Finally, I thought. I never enjoyed talking to her after the bar. She hated when I went to the bar.

After an hour of watching meaningless television I went upstairs to the bedroom. There she was, already asleep on her side of the bed.. I got in as softly as I could and put my arm around her. She moved to the edge of the bed so I couldn’t reach her. It was a big bed.
"Come on babe, I’m sorry."
She didn’t answer.
"Let me make it up to you."
She turned towards me, still on the edge of the bed. I looked into her eyes.
"You’re as beautiful as the day I met you." I said, mildly sarcastic.
"I hate you," she said, as a slight smile grew on her face.
I threw the sheets off the bed. She was naked.
"Hey! It’s cold!"
"Don’t worry babe, Ill warm you up." I crawled down and spread her legs.
“My god is that ever beautiful!” I shouted.
“Would you hurry up down there!” she screamed. Before I could say anything more she grabbed the back of my head and shoved my face right in there. No time to waste.
"OOOHHHH!" she moaned. "OHHH YESS! YESSS!” My tongue worked magic.
I could never fully concentrate while pleasuring a woman. I mean, I was there physically, but mentally I was usually somewhere else. I started to think about what women really want. It seemed so easy to fix things. Men don’t need to buy them gifts, write them poems, be there when they are sad, offering a shoulder for them to cry on. All we needed was a tongue and a little attitude.

It took 10 minutes, a sore neck, and a cramped tongue to get her to finish.
“Good thing nothing comes out when you finish,” I said.
“Do you have to ruin this moment for me every time? And by the way, not all women are the same. Some women have ‘stuff’ come out when they finish. You’re just lucky, even though you don’t deserve to be lucky.”
“Who does deserve to be lucky?”
“I don’t know. But I know its not you.”
“So is it my turn?”
“Your turn? I thought you were making up to me for acting like a jerk before?”
“I was. But now I’m hard, horny, and tired. So get to work babe! I want to get to sleep some time tonight!”
“You’re such an asshole! I’m not giving you shit!”
“Fine, be a cunt.” I got out of bed and left the room. After I rinsed my mouth out in the bathroom I went into the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge. There was one left. Damn, I am lucky after all. I walked over to the table and sat down to look out the window. I could see a couple people walking down the street under the moonlight, laughing and drinking a bottle of rum or whiskey; some kind of dark liquor. There’s a few more lucky son of a bitches. Now, I thought, which couch would be most comfortable to sleep on tonight?

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

True Love

It happened just a few weeks ago. I found the one thing millions of people search for their whole lives; I found true love. It was a regular day, mid week, and I had just gotten out of bed. Once again I had a late night at the pub, so I stumbled down the hallway and made it to the bathroom. After throwing up the demons and having a shower my stomach was ready to take in some food. I made myself a pot of coffee, with a touch of Baileys, and by a touch I mean at least half the pot. I cooked up some eggs but I didn’t even bother eating them. After I finished the coffee mixed with glory I was late for work, but I was feeling good. And that’s what it’s all about, right, feeling good? Fuck off. Once I found my car keys I was on the road. With a lit cigarette, some classic rock, and the sun shining I was in paradise. Too bad I was heading to work. Most days while driving to work I would try to come up with a plan to softly crash my car, leaving my body unharmed but the car damaged enough that I wouldn’t be able to go into work. This day was different. I had a date setup that night at 8 o'clock with a girl I had been seeing for a few months. I could tell she wanted to make it official but I hadn't been ready until that very day. I thought to myself, "This is it. Today I'm going to do it. I'll make it official, right after I finish a bottle of rum."

I managed to make it through the day at work; only god knows how. There's so many sharp objects and heavy blunt weapons at the warehouse I work at I'm surprised to make it home every night. Everyday the exacto knife gets just a little bit closer to my wrist when Im cutting open a box. Help me. Anyways, on the way home I picked up a pizza to get that marinara flowing through my Italian blood and then I stopped at the liquor store by my house. As soon as I walked through the main entrance I felt a rush of ecstacy come over me. I thought to myself, "If this isn't heaven, I dont know what is." I headed straight to the rum aisle. The second I got there my eyes were locked on a bottle of Cruzan. I almost fainted just staring at it. I picked it up immediately, paid for it and left. The first thing I did when I got home was pour a rum and coke-half and half-and sat down. For that moment, and that moment only, I was a king. I heard the phone ring a few times as I was finishing my drink but I was in no mood to answer it. I checked the caller ID to find it was-Richelle-the girl I had been seeing. I called her back and we confirmed our plans were still set for 8pm. I hungup, poured another glass, and watched the sun set.

By the time 8pm rolled around I had consumed over half the bottle. I began hoping Richelle wouldnt even show up just so I could sit in peace, finish my rum, and not have to talk to anybody. I enjoyed solitude. Sure enough, just as that thought passed, the doorbell rang. "Richelle! Hows it going?" "Oh you know, just a little tired from work," she said. "Don't you work as a hostess...?" "What does that mean? Im not allowed to be tired? Its not as easy as you think." "Oh no, of course not. I didnt mean it like that. I know a hostess has to go through excruciating physical exercises and mind blowing tests to be qualified for the job." "You're such an asshole, Nick. Are you drunk?" "Am I ever sober? I asked." "I dont think I can do this anymore," she said. "Do what?" "Everytime I comeover you're either getting drunk, already drunk, or wanting to get drunk. I feel like I have to compete with a bottle of fucking alcohol!" "Nobody can compete with my rum, baby." "See what I mean!" "Just calm down, darling. Have a glass of rum." "No! Unlike you, I dont need alcohol to relax." "How about a Xanax?" "You're a child! Im leaving. Call me if you decide to grow up." She walked out the front and slammed the door. Thank god that was over, I thought. I sat back down on the couch and lit a cigarette. As I watched her car drive down the street I felt an enormous amount of relief. I picked up the half bottle of Cruzan, "Looks like its just you and me, buddy." After taking the cap off I tilted my head back and let the rum flow into my mouth like Niagra Falls. It was glorious. I had a long pull, put the bottle down in front of me, and stared at it. "What would you say if I told you I just found true love?" Realizing I was talking to a bottle of alcohol, I quickly snapped out of it. Now, I thought, where did I put that Xanax?

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

The Big Three

There's three things I hate-old women, young women, and drunk women. Drunk women can be tolerable at times, they are more of an annoyance. The hatred comes in once the bantering and hollering starts to take place. That's when I can't help but imagine her being put down like a dying dog at a veterinarian's office. Its odd that I feel this way because ironically there are three things I think a girl should love to do-fuck, gamble, and yes, frequently drink. If she doesn't like to drink that means she likes to think and I just cant deal with a woman like that. If she doesn't like to gamble that means she doesn't like to take risks. A girl that doesn't enjoy taking risks is afraid to try new things in bed, and I just cant deal with a woman like that. Lastly, if she doesn't like to fuck then I simply have no use for her. Now, most women who read this will probably be thinking, "I dont enjoy doing any of those things. Does that mean men will hate me?", and the answer is yes, men will hate you. In fact, men probably already hate you. Its natural for a man to hate a woman until they have sex. Even then, depending how it was or if the guy can remember it, there's still a strong chance you'll be hated. Most guys just don't have the time or patience to deal with the baggage, and the ones that do have the time and patience are basically females themselves. The funny thing is, its the guys not willing to make time or have patience that the women really want. If you see a couple that have been together for more than 3 years, she settled. Women have to settle. They were born to settle. They take everything they can get no matter what it is just for the sake of having it. A guy on the other hand doesn't have the option to settle. We dont even know what settling is. Were the exact opposite; we aim our sites a little too high. We don't care about rejection, humiliation, or embarrassment. Our whole existence is an embarrassment. We just hope to manipulate the very soul of a woman and bend the truth as much as we can as long as she doesn't find out before a little bit of sex takes place. Either that or we pray she is an easy drunk that continually loses her memory. Anyways, aside from everything, remember the big three. You'll find her at a horse track or a casino bar. You might even find her at one of the local low quality bars giving the bartender her last dollar to suck the straws in the leftover highballs from the afternoon rush. To me, thats a lady.