Didn’t eat yesterday and elected to drink my dinner instead. Oh what fun to drink overproof rum. But morning came and it was time to pay the bill. Weak muscles. Liquified brain. Dry mouth. Smell like an old liquor store carpet. Chugged a bottle of Vitamin Water which came back up in a mango flavored jet. So I smoked a big load of hash and took a nap for 4-5 hours. 2 liters of water down the hatch and I still feel like a corpse left to desiccate out in the high desert.
Happy 2023. Anyone want a fried egg sandwich? I have bacon and Gouda too.
Is 4-5 hours of sleep really a nap? That's like a full night's sleep for an old person. And an insomniac like me.
Who doesn't like the smell of an old liquor store carpet?! Musty with ol' booze and sweat and god knows what else. Good times.
Should we retrieve your desiccated corpse from the desert via horseback for dramatic effect?
Yes, I would like a fried egg sammy with bacon and gouda. Danke. What kind of bread are we talking about?? Texas toast? Sourdough? Tortillas also work if yer in to the whole breakfast burrito thing.
Woke up in unfamiliar surroundings to the village children poking at me with a stick. At least I was still wearing my pants. The sign on the door read "7-11", so I crawled in and had a Big Gulp or two directly from the fountain. Some strange, local drink they called Mountain Dew Code Red. It tasted like I felt.
"Why are your eyes bleeding?" asked the clerk, a young native named DuShawn.
"That’s just the Code Red," I said while shoplifting a pack of generic smokes. "No need for intervention by the authorities."
The cool steel of the dumpster behind the store was soothing upon my forehead. I was scarcely able to smell my own sour musk above that of the dumpster juice and the noxious mélange of the village itself. Oh, glorious hangover! Embrace me in all thy malodorous splendor!
Goddamnit, I am really getting tired of unfinished masterpiece posts getting deleted before I can finish them.
No man, I posted that sock trick in Sports yesterday, or maybe it was today. You stole that. Or maybe I stole it from you and didn’t know it. The flask is silly, you got to have a funnel and with those shaky hands the spillage is considerable. However, let me inform all you “touch of the hard” drinkers, you are not buying a half pint anymore, it’s a milliliter amount that is less than a half pint.
“Talk is cheap, whiskey costs money.” — Harry Caray
Hennessy, it was on that active as all hell thread about baseball. See, I’ve already forgotten the exact name of the thread — something like hello all you baseball fans — but the way I see it, I had my half pint tucked in my sock before you did, or maybe it was in my side pocket, how can one possibly remember, and what difference does it make? There was once a half pint and it is now long gone, I think, unless I hid it somewhere (with a final pull left) thinking of tomorrow morning.
“Talk is cheap, whiskey costs money.” — Harry Caray
The problem is what to eat, if anything. V8 is a good idea, but no, too much acid. Eggs are always good, I keep a jar of pickled eggs in the fridge. Yeah, that’s what I’ll have, a pickled egg.
“Talk is cheap, whiskey costs money.” — Harry Caray
Lights are out here now. There is no more light or tv or radio or going outside to take a piss. The landlord smelled the piss and called me out on it. I denied it of course, saying it was that big ol’ stray dog that’s been running up and down the street, You’re the landlord for Christ’s sake, why don’t you do something about it? He just shook his head. He’s got a brain problem and doesn’t drink. He has a doctors appointment every other day because he has a lot of doctors and he doesn’t drink. He’s okay though, I hate to badmouth anybody, and he doesn’t drink so he doesn’t come over to my side begging beers for breakfast every morning.
“Talk is cheap, whiskey costs money.” — Harry Caray