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.

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