Happy Festivus!
May all your holiday dreams come true, even if they involve two pornstars double-teaming a candycane. Big things coming coming in 2011. Real big things. Stay tuned so you can say 'i knew him back in the day'....
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u tell em hank
>> Tuesday, December 21, 2010
"Don't tell me what to feel. All my fuckin' life people have been telling me I do things wrong, I'm always the fucking asshole, and I look around and I see everyone else is infinitely more fucked- up than I am."
aaaand
>> Monday, December 20, 2010
march 12 providence, rhode island bright eyes. never seen live, should be great
Sofuckingstoked
feb 18 worcester, mass....gonna see thursday play for the first time since 2004. fucking, yes
Holy Fuck......
>> Saturday, December 18, 2010
This site hit the 10,000 views mark today....who the fuck are you people???? Well, to re-introduce myself, I am Adam Schirling, and I will one day be one of the great American novelists and poets....or a homeless alcoholic frozen to death in some back alley. Either way, something will happen...
Read more...much to do
>> Thursday, December 16, 2010
if this adventure is to have any plausible return. time to write and write and write until it spews from my eyes and ears. no distractions save the usual: tattoos, alcohol, and fucking. need to get serious now. need to change the world one fucked up line at a time. force your style upon them. transcend the posers. embrace the lifestyle. write and write and write. gain momentum. win. don't let the swine take you
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new drinks
the first sip
of a new alcohol
is not unlike
the first kiss
from a pretty girl
you have coveted
for a long time
shocks you at first
strong and bold
makes your eyes water
and knees weak
then the warmth comes
rolls down your throat
into your gut
spreading a thick wave
of pleasent heat through
your whole body
your mind wanders
and you recall other first
kisses
some disgusting and cheap
and others beautiful and
elegant
some sexy and dangerous
and some
just welcoming
all are important to
who you are now
I glance down
into this glass
and close my eyes
and my lips tingle with anticipation
of another kiss
a bitter taste
>> Monday, December 13, 2010
the sweet stench of betrayal is string in my nostrils these days. The very institution that I have given so much of my blood sweat and youth to, at the first oppurtunity, has thrown me to the wayside to be pecked at by the vultures in the bitter New England cold. No more can I suffer these injustices. No more can I stand idly by while people I despise profess to do 'whats best for me'...7 years completely wasted. I should have just gone to community college and sold drugs.
I can not, will not, take anymore. Fuck them. I will give only the minimum effort to sustain myself until the end of this nightmare comes. Never again will I shed a drop of sweat for these charlatans. Betrayal. Bitter betrayal. Belief system bleeding and dying on the floor, while people walk by indifferent. I am only concerned for my own survival. Theyve taken enough from me......
>> Sunday, December 12, 2010
sometimes you have to wash off the paint to reveal to the world the jackass underneath-kenny powers
this quote means very much to me these days. the schirling has been a horrible person to people that love him.the schirling has been selfish, and he deserves the awful things that may very well happen to him at this point. the truth is he deserves to be alone ane miserable and to suffer the pain he has inflicted upon others. this is his last hope at redemption, and he knows it all too well.. i commmit myself fully to this, and buk's observation that if you know you are losing your soul, then you still have a soul left to lose.......this weighs heavily on his mind. i hope it is not too latte....
Rome is burning....
It's that time of year again. The time when we pretend to love friends and family again. Like the 2 dollar Hallmark card makes up for a year of distant acquiantance..The time when we suck on the tit of the capitalist and materialistic machine that we now use to celebrate the Christian bastardization of a neo-pagan ritual. The songs, the wrapping paper, the tinsel, the lights....it makes me want to vomit. it's all an illusion. where we can tell ourselves we are good people. where we can embrace each other in the guise of holiday spirit. fake, all fake. there is no fat trespasser in a jolly red suit coming to bring us gifts. there is no spirit of christmas that makes us more pleasent to be around. if we had any sense whatsoever in our disgusting brains we could feed and clothe our nations homeless with a small percentage of the cash we spend buying twinkling lights and pointless and unneeded presents. i hate walking into any store and my senses being assualted with this hoax. On christmas evening, I will do the same thing I do every night: drink a stiff drink, watch a movie, eat chineese takeout, and fall into a drug induced state. Happy fucking festivus
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the road is forking...
>> Friday, December 10, 2010
it looms ahead of me in the not so distant future...a big fucking offramp. to stay straight is to accept reason and order and adherence to cultural standards in my life. I will become a harmless drone. I will stop rebelling against all that has been shoved down my throat for years. I will fondly remember years from now the times when I lived according to my own will and my actions were dictated by whim. yes this highway is safe...warm...comfortable....chance of dying old and surronded by loved ones high.....but then there is this offramp coming. I have seen the signs for miles. its presence can no longer be ignored. this offramp offers me my last chance to veer of this path of the accepted and blissful. its a sharp turn onto a unlit and unpaved road that I am not sure goes anywhere at all, perhaps even straight over a cliff....i cant ignore this offramp. i cant ignore what i feel to be my destiny. i cant become one of them. to stay on this road is certain philosophical and emotional death. my hands shake on the steering wheel now, the turn ahead of me...do i have the courage, the fortitude, the true fucking grit to grin and give the uncertainy of fate the finger. i do my friends. i should have known all along this safe higheway isnt for me. the fact that i am naked in this car with a case of whiskey and stack of pornos on the seat next to me shouldve been my first hint. grinning now, I step on the gas,.....fuck it. lets do this....
Read more...enough is enough
>> Thursday, December 9, 2010
Listen, you fuckers, you screwheads. Here is a man who would not take it anymore. A man who stood up against the scum, the cunts, the dogs, the filth, the shit. Here is a man who stood up.
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Give me strength today, WSB.......
"I am not one of those weak-spirited, sappy Americans who want to be liked by all the people around them. I don’t care if people hate my guts; I assume most of them do. The important question is whether they are in a position to do anything about it. My affections, being concentrated over a few people, are not spread all over Hell in a vile attempt to placate sulky, worthless shits." — William S. Burroughs
Big Uncle Buk.......I fucking love you
>> Tuesday, December 7, 2010
"great writers are indecent people they live unfairly saving the best part for paper. good human beings save the world so that bastards like me can keep creating art, become immortal. if you read this after I am dead it means I made it."
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my homework assignment
>> Sunday, November 21, 2010
jesus those eyes. they stare at me from the abyss of electric anonymity. smoky and smoldering they pierce through me, distracting me from the the debauchery being comitted elsewhere. so many have gone before her, since I can even remeber, what makes her so special? young and innocent looking, these disguise her inner flame. for sonmething burns in her, the same fire that burns in any real artist. some paint, some write, and others record the utter essenence of humanity for all to see. pale skin and a petite frame make her apppear to be weak, but nothing could be farther from the truth. she is dominate through submission. my eyes stay transfixed on the screen, well beyond the simple lecherous thoughts that first made me turn the computer on. spellbound now. there is something different. she is not like the others, not a simple vessel who will soon be used up and spit out by this lifestyle. no, she will remain. persist. she has already burst onto mainstream consciousness, but that wont be the end of it. we are entering a new era of humanity, one of open debauchery, completely hedonistic lifestyles being thrust into the limelightt. what was once taboo is now commonplace, and she is the poster child of this ascent into full transcendence of the moral compass of this country. and holy fuck is she so fucking hot.....
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Acceptance without Resignation
>> Thursday, October 14, 2010
half the point of this blog is my obsession with the concept of Absurdism. a philosophy brought to modern attention by the genius algerian Albert Camus, even though he shunned the title later in life. basically the answer to nihilism that us as humans will constantly search for a meaning of life, while such meaning is impossible to find with our mere human perception of the dark, cold universe. hence: absurd. but the point isnt to despair with this revelation, but to rejoice in the relief that it is pointless to find meaning, and to embrace the ridiculousness of it all.
this had a great impact on me when i first discovered the writing of old albert. in his words, the absurd "struck me in the face". it was this moment when i first stopped trying to be normal, or whatever the fuck normal is. when i first stopped feeling guilt over my desires and perversions and drinking habits. when i embarked on a new path in life focused on embracing the absurdity of our human condition. most of this embracing involves alcohol mostly(obviously). to me booze is a celebration of this concept. not just a medicine to ease the brutal reality of the modern world, but an ambassador to the world of the absurd. the 12 steppers who spout off that you can have just as much fun without booze should be dragged by the ankles to the town square and locked into stocks. this myth is such a trendy lie in our country, and i am sick of it. you can always have fun sober, but anyone that says that they have MORE fun in that despicable condition. sweet beautiful alcohol will always be there to take you along that absurd path.
dont despair over our solititude in a uncaring galaxy. dont cry over unanswerd prayers. smile, drink, fuck, fight, laugh, jerk off, do drugs. do what you need to do. but do it to celebrate our damned path.
"don't wait for the Last Judgement, it takes place everyday"-a.c.
Between the Sheets
>> Wednesday, October 13, 2010
1 part Brandy
1 part White rum
1 part Triple sec
dash of Lemon juice
Shake all the ingredients with the ice. Pour into a cocktail glass.
truth
there really isnt much to say
when you realize
that the world isnt for you
there isnt much to cry about
when you realize that
you will never be
one of them
there isnt much to do
when it becomes clear that
the people
and things
and places
that make up your daily life'
fill you to the brim
with utter disgust and hatred
there isnt much to worry about
when you stand on the outside
and look in on the world
spinning and laughing without you
you can smile
and walk amongst the crowds
but there is the truth
that you are beyond it all
always in your mind
This chick is awesome...
>> Thursday, September 30, 2010
Jennifer Johnson, an awesome new talent.
Drunken Absurdity: Tell us about yourself
JJ:
I was born and raised in Las Vegas, NV- and have loved every minute of it. I love the fast paced life style, and how no matter what time it is, I can get a cheeseburger. I started writing when I was very young, but never pursued it much, even though it always made me feel better, no matter what I was writing about. I have two pups and a kitty, and I just hope they love me as much as I love them. I really hope everyone can enjoy what I have to say, whether they may agree with it or not. I love a good challenge- so bring it on.Indeed. here is a sample of her awesome words....
Slowly, with each passing stride of my hand and every slice from the pristine blade gliding through the soft flesh at my disposal, I find my joy exponentially increasing. They can cry, as they always do, salty tears of painful sorrow and regret, shattering on the ground like tiny glass pearls falling from a broken necklace- magnificent in it's absolute, pure natural beauty. Rich crimson flows gracefully from the precise incisions, strategically placed to ensure a long lasting torment. I find myself ecstatic, barely able to keep my delight contained- jubilant with anticipation of my next move, as if I were playing chess with an indubitably unwilling opponent, and about to strike- taking out his most powerful defenses, leaving him exposed and weak- toying with him with every intentional move until he is begging to be relieved of such agony. Elated by his request, I might fulfill his last wishes, but then what would that make me? A mercenary? Oh no- I am no mercenary. I am just your conventional acquaintance, your neighbor, your friend. No mercenary. His pleads will go unanswered, as I am not quite finished, and don't plan to be. Read more...
Bunch of shit comin up.....
Rhode Island International Horror Film Festival
Beervana Craft Beer Festival
my boy Fraz's bachelor party
the Great International Beer Festival
Newport winery tours/tasting
Interviews with numerous motherfuckers
Staying a night at the Lizzie Borden Murder House
All events will be skillfully covered in true gonzo drunken fashion, and reported on here(probably with a hangover). enjoy. It's a celebration bitches
"When I have inspired universal horror and disgust, I shall have conquered solitude."
"Personally, I think that the unique and supreme delight lies in the certainty of doing 'evil'–and men and women know from birth that all pleasure lies in evil."- charles baudelaire
i love this man. poet,essayist,pervert,drug addict,debtor, and fucking incredible wordist.
Read more...
This motherfucker is a genius....
Horror Sleaze Trash is the brainchild of an Australian dirty fuck, who may be my kindred soul. ben smith has become is a ambassador of the fucked, an inspiration for filth, and my friend. he was awesome enough to post some of my retarded shit on his amazing press, and the works on the extremely perverse/talented/fucked/amazing alike. he is an artist in the true sense of the world, and if any of you have something bad to say, you face the drunken wrath of the Schirling. check it out for some true fuckin enlightment
Cougar Hunt
>> Tuesday, September 14, 2010
The Dirty Old Whore Made Me Do It!!!!!!
Old, too old
he thought with a shake
of the head
she sat on the edge
of the bar
a bit too much makeup
lipstick stain on
the rim of a glass most likely
filled with a cocktail
that younger sluts would dare
not order
she glanced at him
sly sexuality oozing
from bright eyes
no, he thought...
one of these college bitches
would be sure
to wet his dick tonight
he ignored the seductive longing
being shone across the bar
at delved into his scotch
many more later
the spinning stopped
he was in a dark bed
satin sheets that smelled faintly
of lavender
and the cougars mouth was upon him
her warmth on him
and took his manhood
into her very soul
who knew, he thought..
there is treasure to be found in
old pussy
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I called her on the phone, and she touched herself...
>> Thursday, September 9, 2010
Have you ever wondered of the history of phone sex?? When was the first nasty conversation? Did the operator listen? Maybe she touched herself too. Would the other operators find that awkward, or maybe they did it too. What is our fascination of masturbating while a seductive voice whispers to us from the abyss? The first phone sex line didn't come about until 1980, so that means for at least 80 years someone was having filthy conversations, most likely with a rotary phone. Vintage porn proves that our perverted forefathers were just as degraded and sick as we are now, that is for sure. The thought of these stuffed shirt pre-ww2 folks sneaking off to parlor rooms to play with themselves while whispering to a girl wearing a complicated dress makes me fucking grin. I love that most Americans will argue that we are now in the most perverse of times, but in fact sexual fetish is part of the human condition and will always be.
So, drink, dial, and get off!!!
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The Paradise City.....
I mark my triumphant return to the world of public degradation with a mission statement of fuckin sorts. This blog will no longer be just a source of my rants and raves, though those will stay a prominent role. No, my newly assigned calling is to be an Ambassador of Filth. A man who will delve into the dark underbelly of this rotten fake society and mingle with those who see the dregs of this world on a daily basis, while still searching for the perverse beauty of it all. Many interviews will be coming. Tattooists, bartenders, strippers, hookers, drug dealers, underground punk bands, spoken word poets, starving artists, meth addicts, and morticians. All those who contemporary America would rather silence forever will be brought to the limelight by my investigations. Reviews will come too; of bars, shows, poetry readings, indie films, porn conventions, and the likes. It is my sacred duty of a fucked soul with a sharp toungue to find out what makes some of us run screaming into the dark embracing folds of subcultures and countercultures.
stay tuned bitches. the floodgates have been opened
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back at it motherfuckers...
>> Wednesday, September 8, 2010
SCHIRLING IS BACK!!!!
been a rough few months. gettin back in the groove of shit. look for tons new poems, drunk pics, rants, raves, porn, interviews, reviews and overall asshole shenanigans soon.
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so fucking true....
>> Sunday, June 13, 2010
Truly a metaphor for the fucked in all of us. What is there left to do when the last line of reasoning is cut off?
you fuck
>> Friday, June 11, 2010
why do you call to me all dayI hear you
while I am sitting at my desk
your sirens call
your beautiful smell
hits my nostrils
delicious and painful
beautiful and disgusting
you bring the numb
the beautiful numb
but it's not the same
no more beauty
no more laughs
no more fun
just survival
i drink you alone
and dream of better times
when there was friends
and wives
and family
but they are gone now
it's just me and you
let's get this over with
already
buzz killington
what a little bitch. Someone should have got his ass some taco bell and he would have been straight
i fucking wish
that I could fucking go home. I wish I could smell the desert. I wish I could see the lights. I wish I had friends and family to welcome we with open arms. I wish I had a bright future in the land of my growth. I wish I knew what to do. I wish I wasn't exiled. I wish I wasn't mechasing the buzz
>> Friday, June 4, 2010
I miss
the days
when a small amount of drink
would take me away
blur my vision
make my words stumble
those precious few sips
make my head spin
make the most boring night
a crusade into the unknown
Now, alas, it is but a memory
so much booze
bottles gone
And still i sit here
able to function
I want to be comatose
I hate chasing
the buzz
Drunken sex
has lost its appeal
no more sweaty thrills
in dark rooms
taking my breath away
Now just routine
a daily rutual
open the bottle
pour the lies
drink
repeat
no good
the chase continues
I can never go back
to those days of
youthful zeal
In survival mode now
The booze lubricates
this damning process
Fucking tragedy
this sudden tolerance
But I keep trudging along
How long could this
insanity last?
you have.....
been on my mind lately. what weird words could you contribute to these fucked times. I find myself wondering what you would have to say about these shitty days we currently occupy.
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ooohhh Robin,,,,,,,
Why do you make me hear such bad news from such a pretty face? You could tell me the world was ending, and I wouldn't care....
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i fear change
I hate
having to find that new bar
New looks and
New stares when I get loud
New taps
New explanations
mumbled apologies
I need solitude
I need comfort
I dread the judging
of that
new barkeep
I fucking fear the change
but,
this beer is amazing
You have hope
new bar
Can you handle
my debauchery?
Can you deal, when I start getting
weird?
Read more...
The Crusade (originally posted to Alternative Reel on 4 May 2010)
>> Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Many people use the phrase crawled into a bottle....I like it. I think it works. I did crawl. On hands and bloody knees...Through pits of desperation and despair so poignant it made me wanna puke. I can remember that first drink. That first true drink. Not Wine at a family dinner, or champagne at a cousins wedding, but the true embrace of liquid hope. It was a shot of cheap blackberry brandy. fucking disgusting now that I think about it.I remember feeling the warmth spread down my chest and arms. A feeling of superiority took over. I was invincible, unstoppable. That night was full of such awful randomness as the drinks poured, and buffoons laughed into the warm summer night without a care in the world. Foolishly dismissive of our fates. I tackled a line of fucking trash cans that night. Drunk called every girlfriend that ad ever had the bad luck and misfortune to know me. Dumb cunts. Should have realized what an asshole I was. A new man was born that day. Bolder. Edgier. Hornier. Everything changed. The world bore colors I never knew existed, a fat chick never looked so beautiful and obtainable. I was a pioneer in my own mind, setting forth alone across this drunken plane of debauchery, without a second thought to consequences. My step was giddy, my heart light, my horizon endless. I marched forward with this tomfoolery, to a land of brutal vomiting, headache mornings, awkward aplogies, and beautiful sweaty memories of wet pussy in random friends houses. It was a glorious union, this blessed substance and I. There were never two better friends. Then the journey was over. My fellow pioneers reached their destination. O' my brethren how I fucking envy thee. They laid down claim, bore children and memories. Went on fucking ghastly horrible vacations to the American Middle. But I refused to stop walking in this awful landscape. One by one they sloughed off, until I was truly alone. I sludged by, a true monument to the original dream now living dangerously outdated. I saw their happiness through eyes pinched shut by a brain constantly under the violent onslaught of a beverage hell bent on its ultimate destruction. I am all alone now. Feet bloody and mishapen from my tragic search. what the fuck I am looking for....The others found it. Why was it so easy for them? Or was it all a ruse, an elaborate deception constructed by those desperate for the peace and comfort of a soft bed, and a warm pair of tits to share it with? time will tell. But still I walk. Stumbling really, now. The booze isnt as special as it once was. The feelings of invincibility have escaped me. The strength of the dream has fled as well. I still only walk in this fucking wasteland under a blind hope....That eventually the horizon will end...That there will be a exquisite blue sea awaiting me...Full of Large Breasted mermaids holding jugs of good booze. Keep fucking walking man....You made an oath witihin on that first drink. And you can't quit now...
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We are all our own pioneers on this fucked journey. It is our drunken obligation to veer off that twisted path of normalcy. Drink the shitty booze. Fuck the fat chick. scorn your friends and neighbors. embarrass your parents. we all owe it to that pioneer spirit.
Bless you first drink, first covenant with an unholy crusade.
Why fight it???
>> Sunday, May 2, 2010
Ignore this terrible sobriety. Embrace the fucking chaos. Only when you give up can you fully achieve enlightenment. Too goddamn much. Too much noise lately. Need that quiet, the painful solace, the warm numb blanket of blissful slow suicide. Solitude, so damning, so peaceful. A warm slow death, like freezing in a blizzard. First scared, then content, then warm, then it all goes numb. How many times have I frozen to death by now? Countless times...How many times do I have left? Hard to say. Maybe a Million, maybe a dozen. But fuck it. Stop fighting it. Accept your fate. We all have a role to fulfill. Doctor, Lawyer, Teacher, Belligerent Drunk. Don't fight your assignment of fate. It will only drive you to a brink of insanity that will cause your brain to bubble, lungs to sieze, stomach to churn....Just accept the knowledge of your flaws.
It could be worse
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My Fortress of Schirlingtude
The streets are full of the trendy, the hip, the loud and fucked. 90 dollar shirts covering waxed and spray tanned bros. They stand like douchebag cattle outside their loud clubs, smoking and basking in the warmth of their bullshit and smug self worth. Cheap makeup plastered on girls dressed in their sluttiest best. The game continues for them. The hunt. The smell of PBR, desperation, and hardons fill the air. I make my way through this crowd, head down. Avoid eye contact, thats how they get you. A polite hello one minute to a semi-familiar face, and the next thing you know you are doing jagerbombs and dancing to a top 40 hit. Fuck No. Not me. Keep the head down. Weave through this tapestry of bullshit and fucked priorities. Stay anonymous. Keep the goal in mind. Target acquired. I see the green door. Relief washes through me like a cool crisp wave. Almost safe. Almost there. Don't lose focus now. Oh fuck, a drunk fat girl is making a scene, crying on the street, fatter friends trying to console her. Avoid this last obstacle. I reach it. Like a HOME, but without the judgment, and constant disappointment. The sign greets me, NO FUCKING HIPSTERS. This isn't the place for that. People take their drinking seriously here. Mass amounts are consumed in a unhealthy amount of time by the perpetually awesome. The truly blessed. Those that have no time for dancing and girly shooters. The door opens, beckoning, welcoming us back. Hug the doorman, a compatriot. I glance at my brother, I see the same look in his eyes. So many crazy things have happened in here. Too much of us......blood, sweat, tears, vomit......has been spilled on these floors for us to ever call another place home. Take the plunge, go down the stairs. Descending into the musty dank soothing womb. Madness awaits. I have seen it all here. The true dregs of humanity. Occasionally, despite the ominous undertones in the entryway, some of the brave tools will venture down, poke a head in. I see the disgust, the wrinkled brow. There is no bullshit here, not for the kind they crave. Get the fuck out. This is our place. The vibe is loud now. I see my brother yelling in the corner. My Guinness, number 5million tonight, is cold and soothing. A chick falls off her barstool. A fat uggo is puking in a trash can. the shitters are clogged again. I look up. Deep breathe. I am at home among the madness, the random acts of bullshit. I am at home.
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Aqua Vitae
>> Friday, April 30, 2010
My kitchen counter after a productive week....As you can see, and as any true friend of mine could tell you, I am partial to the whisky. Water of fucking Life.
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Go bro go
>> Thursday, April 29, 2010
The smell
That salt air
Calming
Soothing
I catch the scent
All day long
I need it
That cool shock
The thrill
Of feet leaving
Dry land
Stepping into
A different world
Stepping into liquid
The surf wax fills my nose
There is nothing
Between me and
The continents
But the ancient
Of ancients
This abyss
My board slides through
The glass
I need this
My daily baptism
My constant redemption
It keeps
The demons at bay
I look back to the shore
That other world
I smile
Im safe
For now
Read more...
hello friend.....
Fuckin outta control. not enough beers in the world. Not enough at all. Ignore the fear. Ignore the worry and apprehension. The juice is worth the squeeze. Always. Who the fuck wants to be 90? Shitting my pants in some VA hospital while some young kid pretends to care. I was that kid once. 19 years old and wiping the ass of some cranky old vet. God, how we come full circle. Just waiting to get off work so I could have a few beers and a pizza with my friends. Who knew that temporary pleasure would turn into a medicinal therapy into a necessary evil. Addiction? HA! hardly. Fucking part or life. Everyone is addicted to something. Wether it love, booze, smack, fucking, fast food, strippers, church, or the gym; we are all slaves to some master. At least I am friends with mine. Old friends. A true friend, the bottle doesn't leave me. Doesn't fight with me. Doesn't judge me. Is ALWAYS there when I need it. We should all be so lucky to have such good friends. I am content with my friend.
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Lunchtime
>> Sunday, April 25, 2010
Bottle of good bourbon. 49.95. The label claims its from a single barrel poured on 22 March by hand from barrel #377, and rated at 93 proof. A lot of words that equals me embracing that wave of pleasure. Delicious. Can't stop listening to obscure late 90s punk rock. Sounds of my youth. Memories flash with every burning sip. Amazing, the powers of recollection when the fire of such good booze burns deep. My gods, has it been that long? I feel like I am looking at a slideshow of laughter, awkward sexual encounters, blind friendships, and unrelenting hopes. Such good whiskey. Smooth, hints of vanilla and coffee. I can almost smell that desert air. See that ambition, FEEL that earnest of wants and desire. So stupid. So trusting. Random girl in the passenger seat of my truck. Who is she? Doesn't matter, she is a reoccurring character who is always played by a different actress. You know, like the wife from Fresh Prince. Well, except young and white and attractive. Fuck. Damn good hootch. if this was lunch, what could ever be for dinner?????
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