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?
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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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