This is the personal blog of Adam J. Schirling, the founder and editor-in-chief of Drunken Absurdity, a revolutionary ezine. For the best in alternative literature, poetry, art, movies and more go to This blog is strictly for my personal rants, some dirty pics, and the occasional cool story or sweet tunes.

The zombie armageddon is among us...Krokodil, the worst drug in the world

>> Thursday, September 29, 2011

Desomorphine attracted attention in 2010 in Russia due to an upsurge in clandestine production, presumably due to its relatively simple synthesis from codeine.The drug is easily made from codeine, iodine and red phosphorus, in a similar process to the manufacture of methamphetamine from pseudoephedrine, but desomorphine made this way is highly impure and contaminated with various toxic and corrosive byproducts. The street name in Russia for home-made Desomorphine made in this way is "krokodil" (crocodile), reportedly due to the scale-like appearance of skin of its users, and it is used as a cheaper alternative to heroin, as codeine tablets are available without a prescription.
Abuse of home-made desomorphine was first reported in eastern Siberia in 2002, but has since spread throughout Russia and the neighboring former Soviet republics. Since this mix is routinely injected immediately with little or no further purification, "Krokodil" has become notorious for producing severe tissue damage, phlebitis and gangrene, sometimes requiring limb amputation in long-term users. The amount of tissue damage is so high that addicts' life expectancies are said to be as low as two to three years.

Read more of this insanity here...


Where Hipsters shop....

>> Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Come read of the horrors of Whole Foods Market...



Hipster: The Dead End of Western Civilization

>> Monday, September 26, 2011

The following is an excerpt from a Douglas Haddow article, written in July 2008 for Adbusters magazine. Read the rest of the article at the link below. If only Mr. Haddow could have seen into the future to see just how bad it would really get. These soul sucking parasites have destroyed cool in America, and it will not return until we expose the frauds for what they are: The Anti-Christ of Counter-Culture. I find it particularly entertaining how he pointed out that no Hipsters would actually admit to the label, despite doing anything possible to conform to that identity. This is a far cry from the hippies, punks, b-boys, and grunge movements of previous decades.....
"We've reached a point in our civilization where counterculture has mutated into a self-obsessed aesthetic vacuum. So while hipsterdom is the end product of all prior countercultures, it’s been stripped of its subversion and originality."
I'm sipping a scummy pint of cloudy beer in the back of a trendy dive bar turned nightclub in the heart of the city's heroin district. In front of me stand a gang of hippiesh grunge-punk types, who crowd around each other and collectively scoff at the smoking laws by sneaking puffs of "fuck-you," reveling in their perceived rebellion as the haggard, staggering staff look on without the slightest concern.

The "DJ" is keystroking a selection of MP3s off his MacBook, making a mix that sounds like he took a hatchet to a collection of yesteryear billboard hits, from DMX to Dolly Parton, but mashed up with a jittery techno backbeat.

"So... this is a hipster party?" I ask the girl sitting next to me. She's wearing big dangling earrings, an American Apparel V-neck tee, non-prescription eyeglasses and an inappropriately warm wool coat.

"Yeah, just look around you, 99 percent of the people here are total hipsters!"

"Are you a hipster?"

"Fuck no," she says, laughing back the last of her glass before she hops off to the dance floor.

Ever since the Allies bombed the Axis into submission, Western civilization has had a succession of counter-culture movements that have energetically challenged the status quo. Each successive decade of the post-war era has seen it smash social standards, riot and fight to revolutionize every aspect of music, art, government and civil society.

But after punk was plasticized and hip hop lost its impetus for social change, all of the formerly dominant streams of "counter-culture" have merged together. Now, one mutating, trans-Atlantic melting pot of styles, tastes and behavior has come to define the generally indefinable idea of the "Hipster."

An artificial appropriation of different styles from different eras, the hipster represents the end of Western civilization – a culture lost in the superficiality of its past and unable to create any new meaning. Not only is it unsustainable, it is suicidal. While previous youth movements have challenged the dysfunction and decadence of their elders, today we have the "hipster" – a youth subculture that mirrors the doomed shallowness of mainstream society.


Take a stroll down the street in any major North American or European city and you'll be sure to see a speckle of fashion-conscious twentysomethings hanging about and sporting a number of predictable stylistic trademarks: skinny jeans, cotton spandex leggings, fixed-gear bikes, vintage flannel, fake eyeglasses and a keffiyeh – initially sported by Jewish students and Western protesters to express solidarity with Palestinians, the keffiyeh has become a completely meaningless hipster cliché fashion accessory.

The American Apparel V-neck shirt, Pabst Blue Ribbon beer and Parliament cigarettes are symbols and icons of working or revolutionary classes that have been appropriated by hipsterdom and drained of meaning. Ten years ago, a man wearing a plain V-neck tee and drinking a Pabst would never be accused of being a trend-follower. But in 2008, such things have become shameless clichés of a class of individuals that seek to escape their own wealth and privilege by immersing themselves in the aesthetic of the working class.

This obsession with "street-cred" reaches its apex of absurdity as hipsters have recently and wholeheartedly adopted the fixed-gear bike as the only acceptable form of transportation – only to have brakes installed on a piece of machinery that is defined by its lack thereof.

Lovers of apathy and irony, hipsters are connected through a global network of blogs and shops that push forth a global vision of fashion-informed aesthetics. Loosely associated with some form of creative output, they attend art parties, take lo-fi pictures with analog cameras, ride their bikes to night clubs and sweat it up at nouveau disco-coke parties. The hipster tends to religiously blog about their daily exploits, usually while leafing through generation-defining magazines like Vice, Another Magazine and Wallpaper. This cursory and stylized lifestyle has made the hipster almost universally loathed.

"These hipster zombies… are the idols of the style pages, the darlings of viral marketers and the marks of predatory real-estate agents," wrote Christian Lorentzen in a Time Out New York article entitled ‘Why the Hipster Must Die.' "And they must be buried for cool to be reborn."

With nothing to defend, uphold or even embrace, the idea of "hipsterdom" is left wide open for attack. And yet, it is this ironic lack of authenticity that has allowed hipsterdom to grow into a global phenomenon that is set to consume the very core of Western counterculture. Most critics make a point of attacking the hipster's lack of individuality, but it is this stubborn obfuscation that distinguishes them from their predecessors, while allowing hipsterdom to easily blend in and mutate other social movements, sub-cultures and lifestyles.


Standing outside an art-party next to a neat row of locked-up fixed-gear bikes, I come across a couple girls who exemplify hipster homogeneity. I ask one of the girls if her being at an art party and wearing fake eyeglasses, leggings and a flannel shirt makes her a hipster.

"I'm not comfortable with that term," she replies.

Her friend adds, with just a flicker of menace in her eyes, "Yeah, I don't know, you shouldn't use that word, it's just…"


"No… it's just, well… if you don't know why then you just shouldn't even use it."

"Ok, so what are you girls doing tonight after this party?"

"Ummm… We're going to the after-party."


Gavin McInnes, one of the founders of Vice, who recently left the magazine, is considered to be one of hipsterdom's primary architects. But, in contrast to the majority of concerned media-types, McInnes, whose "Dos and Don'ts" commentary defined the rules of hipster fashion for over a decade, is more critical of those doing the criticizing.

"I've always found that word ["hipster"] is used with such disdain, like it's always used by chubby bloggers who aren't getting laid anymore and are bored, and they're just so mad at these young kids for going out and getting wasted and having fun and being fashionable," he says. "I'm dubious of these hypotheses because they always smell of an agenda."

Punks wear their tattered threads and studded leather jackets with honor, priding themselves on their innovative and cheap methods of self-expression and rebellion. B-boys and b-girls announce themselves to anyone within earshot with baggy gear and boomboxes. But it is rare, if not impossible, to find an individual who will proclaim themself a proud hipster. It's an odd dance of self-identity – adamantly denying your existence while wearing clearly defined symbols that proclaims it.

The rest of this genius here.....



JOIN OUR REVOLUTION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

>> Saturday, September 24, 2011

The new and improved Drunken Absurdity dot come has been kicking ass and getting great reviews from the masses! Come check out the best in underground and alternative literature, art, poetry, and music!!!

The Revolution Calls


how to drink the Hemingway way

The following article is an excerpt from Marty Beckerman's new book and e-book, "The Heming Way: How to Unleash the Booze-Inhaling, Animal-Slaughtering, War-Glorifying, Hairy-Chested, Retro-Sexual Legend Within... Just Like Papa!", a satirical look at Ernest Hemingway's life and many misguided ideas.

In this age of Mike's Hard Lemonade, Smirnoff Ice, Bacardi Breezers (flavors include pineapple, watermelon, mango, coconut, raspberry, blueberry, and probably estrogen), and other alco-pops marketed to prepubescent girls, it's easy to wonder: why should I drink throat-burning hard liquor when I can instead sip five-proof carbonated fruit juice? Or: why should I put hair on my balls when I'm just going to manscape them anyway?


But didn't Hemingway love daiquiris? you ask. Didn't Hemingway invent the mojito? Yes, Hemingway loved and invented lots of things -- such as freedom and gravity -- but only Richard Nixon could go to Red China. We must painstakingly follow his example (Hemingway's, not Nixon's) which means earning sufficient masculine credibility to experiment with unmanly pursuits, and thereby make them manly.

Amateurs, unlike aficionados, can't afford to break the rules, because (as Hemingway told the Paris Review) "what amateurs call a style is usually only the unavoidable awkwardnesses in first trying." You may consume a piña colada garnished with maraschino cherries and caramelized strawberries only after surviving trench warfare, the Running of the Bulls, two African safaris, four wives, and thousands upon thousands of piña coladas.

Men don't get loaded for the vitamin C. We get loaded because we have demons. We are dark, broody, and mysterious; we possess inexplicable desires and tempestuous temperaments. We can dull our torment with liquid intoxicants -- as the amputee endures his wretched condition with morphine -- but we cannot erase our misery. Nor would we want to do so, because "to suffer like a man" (like Santiago in "The Old Man and the Sea") makes us men.

Alcohol isn't about expressing this torment. The whole point is burying it deeper, which is why nobody likes a sad drunk. But some inconsiderate people -- specifically, people with vaginas -- cannot help themselves; they have an ounce of schnapps and then weep about their latest breakup (with yet another soul mate) or their backstabbing girl friends (those bitches) or their dead pet (more like toy) or their horrible daddy (the molester).

Whining is for women; whiskey is for men. The only shoulder a man cries on is marinated beef chuck, and the only tears he cries are tears of joy. "You don't want to mix emotions up with a wine," Papa implored in "The Sun Also Rises." "You lose the taste."

The only time Hemingway cried over alcohol: When Congress made it illegal during Prohibition. But he pulled himself together, as a man does always, and traveled to Paris, as a man does seldom. There Papa committed to a life of glorious, full-throttle chemical dependence alongside "The Great Gatsby" author F. Scott Fitzgerald, who said, "First you take a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes you." In Fitzgerald's case, the drink took ten thousand drinks and then left him dead in the gutter.

During this time Hemingway composed "The Sun Also Rises," a novel about self-loathing, castrated Jake Barnes, who impresses women with his massive booze consumption, since he can't impress them with a massive anything else. (Original title: "The Junk Never Rises.") The book's characters drank more than a hundred and fifty types of alcohol on nearly eight hundred occasions, just like their creator before lunch. A decade and a half later, at the ripe old age of forty, Hemingway -- who wrote what he knew -- suffered from kidney and liver problems, hypertension, cramps, diabetes, insomnia, bloody urine, and (worst of all) erectile dysfunction. Life penis imitates art penis.

Doctors begged him to cut back from his average of three bottles per day. Hemingway agreed to compromise, reducing his intake to a detox diet of absinthe, whiskey, vodka, wine, gin, tequila, champagne, and beer for breakfast, according to numerous biographies. (You haven't tasted Cinnamon Toast Crunch until you've doused it with Guinness Extra Stout.) Papa even refused to shower, revealed his friend A.E. Hotchner in the memoir "Papa Hemingway," instead demanding "alcohol sponge-baths."

These physical and psychological maladies suggest that imbibing is a bad thing -- with negative consequences -- but Hemingway told us in "The Sun Also Rises": "It seemed out of place to think of consequences during the fiesta." Alcohol takes years off your life, but he told us in "A Farewell to Arms," it "always makes you happy," like a well-marbled steak drenched with blood and butter. (And with bourbon.)

Anything worth doing is more worth doing blitzed ...

The goddamn bible


for my black friends

>> Friday, September 23, 2011

Dionne Washington claims to have the biggest butt in the world.
Dionne Washington can’t imagine anything worse than dieting. Her massive bottom is 5ft 3ins across and weighs a whopping 120 pounds – about the same as Lindsay Lohan holding twenty pounds of coke.

Dionne loves her butt.

“I am literally sitting on a fortune,” says Dionne, 35. “My butt must be the widest in the world and it already earns me over $180,00 a year. I used to hate it, but now it’s my fave feature.”

She’s sitting on a goldmine.

She knows how much her bottom weighs because four men lifted her up and flopped it down on a set of industrial scales while holding up the rest of her. At its widest point, it’s 14ft 9ins around, and she’s on a mission to make it even bigger.

Dionne’s total weight is 425 lbs and at 5ft 4ins tall her Body Mass Index is 85. That’s four times more than an average woman and it puts her at risk of high cholesterol, diabetes and heart problems.

“I’m not concerned,” she insists. “I love my body and wouldn’t change a thing.”

Insane butt news


16 yr old Schirling dream girls

>> Wednesday, September 21, 2011

I loved these bitches


rock on


poetry and shit

New poem of mine on Catfish Mcdaris's site, CatfishGringoRiver

Read and leave some love/hate..



wed morning classy nudes


We're back bitches!!!!

>> Monday, September 19, 2011

Site is back in business

The revolution lives


we love girls. we love whiskey. we love girls who love whiskey

>> Sunday, September 18, 2011


“There's nothing to mourn about death any more than there is to mourn about the growing of a flower. What is terrible is not death but the lives people live or don't live up until their death. They don't honor their own lives, they piss on their lives. They shit them away. Dumb fuckers. They concentrate too much on fucking, movies, money, family, fucking. Their minds are full of cotton. They swallow God without thinking, they swallow country without thinking. Soon they forget how to think, they let others think for them. Their brains are stuffed with cotton. They look ugly, they talk ugly, they walk ugly. Play them the great music of the centuries and they can't hear it. Most people's deaths are a sham. There's nothing left to die.”

― Charles Bukowski


our grandparents porn....

>> Friday, September 16, 2011

The fanatical religous right love to claim that porn is one of the plagues of modern America, and it is rotting our moral fiber...

That is just fucking retarded. As long as there has been cameras, there has been people fucking in front of them. It is not a creation of the 60s sexual revolution, or the 90s internet boom. People like to watch other people fuck. Period.


we love naked celebs

>> Thursday, September 15, 2011

is this really Scarlett Johansson nude in these alledged leaked pics?? Do we fuckin hope so?? YES!!!!!


another gorgeous model for Drunken Absurdity dot com

the lovely and always beautiful pin up girl, Kiti Kobain, will be taking some exclusive pics for DA!

Classic American Pin Up


octoberfest approaches!!!!!

let the countdown begin


the best booze store I have ever been to...

and that is saying a lot..


New logo

>> Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Drawn by the absolutely amazing tattoo artist Tom Butts, from Anchor Steam Tattoo in Newport,RI


we dig hot ladies....

Yo DA fans:

Look for the beautiful and sultry nude fetish model and indie horror flick starlet, Morianna Morgue, to be gracing the webpages of Drunkenabsurdity dot com!!


back online!!!!

finally got the internet back up after the move to providence, time to get back to work with motherfuckin Drunkenabsurdity dot com!


>> Sunday, September 11, 2011



>> Thursday, September 8, 2011


>> Wednesday, September 7, 2011


New member of the DA team:

>> Tuesday, September 6, 2011

We at Drunken Absurdity are proud to announce that longtime contributor and Revolutionary, Willis Gordon is our new official political analyst and correspondent. We expect great things from this degenerate genius....

He is the only political writing we will be featuring on DA. While I respect the genre, and have several news bloggers I frequent, outside of Willis and good ole HST, I really do not enjoy focusing on political analysis.

We are lucky and proud to have him join the team


New essay published

>> Sunday, September 4, 2011

Check out my new essay on the Sept 1st issue of Writing Raw

Defiance to logic


drunken absurdity fans dont despair!

After power outages from pussy hurricane Irene, major domain issues, and moving to a new city, we are back on track to launch DA dot com!


move complete...

>> Friday, September 2, 2011

I absolutely fucking despise this town. Fuck you Providence, you fucking suck and you know it. I don't know what I hate worse, the old fucking house, mobs of hipsters on bikes, horrible drivers, confusing streets, and just the overwhelming feeling of claustraphobia and dread that sets in the second I cross into the city limits. I should be living in a cottage in bristol, or better yet, a beach house in san diego. Fuck providence, fuck Rhode island, fuck new England


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New England, United States
Freelance writer and poet. Founder and Editor in Chief of Drunken Absurdity. President of Drunken Absurdity LLC

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