03/18/13

His Name Is Bruce

I had a rough day at work. I needed to relax and while a good nights rest is the safest and cheapest idea, I figured drowning my worries and anger in a glass of beer is a better idea. I am not condoning drinking as a problem solver. I am not telling you to drink to fix the problems work drops on you. Sure work can bring you sob stories of decaying teeth, people with the precognition of being sick three days in advance, or the inability to chug water faster than a paralyzed penguin with a feet shuffling problem.  I cannot control those things. I cannot stop people from doing the things they do that send me in to fits of rage. I cannot blame them for the foul words and vulgarness that spews from my lips and the  degrading words that dangle and roll of my tongue. I drink not because you do things like call in sick or complain about your horrible life, I drink because I know you. Your presence alone will point me and literally drive me to the bar to drink and fix problems with barley, hops, and wheat.

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