The downfall of drinking.

halfbakedBefore I get into this blog entry, I want to apologize for not being more active on the posting. I keep forgetting to post things and when I do get the urge and the giddy feeling inside my heart to do so, I end up inviting people over and we drink, get stupid, and inadvertently, get HR after us for hanging with married women. But that story is for another day and when I say another day, I mean never. I am an open book when it comes to blogging but ask me things, personal things, I clam up. That may be why I am angry all the time and why I hate the world. People say we need to express our feelings but I rather not open up about how I feel about people or answer you when you ask me if I am okay. My answer will be always be, “yeah, I am fine. Now go eff off and leave me be.” I don’t tell them to eff off exactly. I am nicer about it but to get my point across and to amuse me for the sake and keeping up the persona of being an asshole and a total 5’11 of douchebaggery, I will stick to the “eff off” scenario if you stick to leaving me the hell alone. Sound good? Awesome. Now let’s get to me explaining why drinking is a downfall.

Why is drinking bad? There isn’t just one reason why drinking is bad. I am not going to talk about the crap it does to your liver or the brain cells it can kill. I don’tburnthewitch worry about that. I have enough brain cells and my liver and I seem to get along just fine. Sure, my stomach gets upset and decides to project the alcohol back up later as I hug the toilet. We all have had our fair share of vomiting, regretting it in the morning, and then swearing off the stuff till we croak. Yet, as I have explained before, we go back to drinking because we like it and we have, at least I do, a slight addiction problem to alcohol. I manage. I still function. I still work and still live a normal life. I am, as what an asshole I used to work with calls it, “a functioning alcoholic”. Look, buddy. I might have a love for alcohol but I will never tell people the real reason why you lost your job at your previous place of work. Maybe if you kept it in your pants, you and I wouldn’t have crossed paths and that would have been fine by me. Yes, I loath you. Some folks can die in a fire and if I had to go back and save one, you can bet your sweet ass I would be pouring more gasoline on you, burning you alive like the good folks did to the witches of Salem.

My issue with drinking is none of that. I am a binge drinker. I admit it. I drink till I get stupid. I drink till all my functions go dead and my judgemental skills are as impaired and useless and Stephen Hawking’s ski equipment. I don’t want you to think I am glorifying drinking and making it look like something that all people should do. I am not that kind of person. I just enjoy it and after a long day of working. I want to come home, crack open a bottle and relax some. There are many other ways to relax but since I can’t get my hands on lasagna, I’ll need something else to get the edge off. Believe me, there are many things to do to get the edge or myself off but it is cheaper and cleaner to just drink and not sprain my wrist in the process. Only ugly part of drinking is cleaning up the next morning. You wake up. You’re a bit groggy and not quite sober yet. You see the bottles and cans scattered about. You don’t want to clean. You’d rather sit on the couch and watch whatever crap you can find on television.

Still, there is one issues with drinking that is my downfall. It’s not the amount of feelings and dark truths that pour from my mouth. It’s not me getting serious and real like the cast of “The Real World”. It’s far worse than that. It’s the time when my shields come down and I go against all the things I forbid. When I drink, and after a number of beverages, I let my guard down. I give out hugs. I hug people!

Sickening. A nasty human emotion I don’t do. I don’t hug people. I don’t even shake hands. I don’t even tell my mother “I love you.”  I dropped my mother off at her house. She leaves the car. This is the conversation we had as she left.

My Mom: Thank you, son!

Me: No problem.

My Mom: Have a good night. I love you.

Me: ok.

/shuts door.

See? I don’t even tell my mom that I love her. I have no heart and no emotions. Maybe that’s why I am alone. Maybe that’s why I will be forever alone. Yes, that’s okay. I don’t think I will ever find a woman or a wife who will abide by my rules. I don’t shake hands. I don’t tell my mom I love her and I don’t hug people but pour beer or any liquor down my mouth and I am a hugging freak. I don’t even know how many people I hugged a few weeks ago but I am still trying to wash off the filth. Sure I have germs too but I have my germs. I am okay with mine. I just don’t want yours. Still, when I drink and after I throw caution to the wind, I hand out hugs like a pedophile hands out candy to the kids at a local park. I have issues with being touched.


Get me drinking and I will hug people. I give up and just hug like there is no tomorrow. That’s my downfall with drinking. I should figure a way to stop that from happening. Maybe stop drinking and you won’t hug people anymore. Don’t go there. Maybe you can stop breathing and that will put an end to your silly remedies about the carelessness I give to drunken hugging. I need to find a way to drink and not give out hugs. Plus, I need to find a way to stop my dumbass roomie from drawing dicks on my face and arms when I pass out first. Nothing like hugging people and then coming to the next morning to a large, black penis drawn on your face with a sharpie. Guess it’s better than waking up to an actual large, black penis on my face.

Word to the wise. Don’t pass out first. Sharpie is a bitch to get off.




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