Tag Archives: booze

She’s Angry and You Don’t Remember What You’ve Done Because You’re Such a Wasteful Drunk

Leave a reply

Boom.
There she was
all up in my face
all over it
everywhere
like saran wrap
but much worse.

Eyes wide wild and crazy.
Teeth gnashing out words
spitting
grinding
pointing
screaming
about something I did wrong
and that it was the last time
the final straw
as I was now in the pisser
the shitter
the doghouse
the dump.

Yes, I was in all kinds of heathen trouble
since the bad news kitty-cat became a Bengal tiger
and now it was flowing
-such harsh words from such hot lips-
as she unleashed a boiling cauldron of fury
right into the lap of my soul.

I tried to follow.
I tried to follow.
I couldn’t follow.

Evac and evade!
Evac and evade!
I couldn’t even get up.

All I could do was look at her
and wonder what it was
that I did wrong
because I was drunk again
and at the point where I usually stumbled
into the great big nothing
that I called sleep.

Finally, she marched off
like she was adequately prepared
to eviscerate the entire housing complex.

I was still wondering what I had done
that was so engagingly disrupting to her
inner calm.

I shrugged.
I had no idea.

I suppose that I would
find out tomorrow and that
my life would be
Hell
for a little while.

Advertisement

20 Years Later & Still The Fuck-up Deadbeat Alcoholic Father Of The Year

Leave a reply

I knew that I fucked up
as soon as the money was gone
and I finally came crawling back to the motel
hours later
wasted

There she was standing
outside of the door -my baby
my little girl my
sweet strong sentinel.

She was crying she was so
furious that it made me want to
cry
and take everything back
all of it
ever.

“You said you were going to change…”
She shoved me and I
stumbled back and over a parking curb.
It might have been slapstick funny if it
wasn’t so damn pathetic.

“But look at you, same as always. The funny thing is
that I wanted so badly to believe in you. It’s all that
I ever wanted and you couldn’t even give me that and I
can’t do this anymore.

I just simply can’t
so if you want to keep drinking and killing yourself,
well here.”

She lifted the half-empty bottle of vodka I had stashed under the bed
and threw it at the ground.
It smashed so close that I felt shards of the
broken glass
sting my face.

“There you fucking go.” She said
and then her back was turned and she was walking off
toward the night highway-
my baby girl,
my sweet strong angel.

I tried to get up but the gravity of everything
was all off and I had to crawl over to the wall
and once I was finally up I started hoofing
the door to my room.

“FUUUUCK!” I screamed, kicked it harder.
“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!”

Some asshole opened the door beside me
spit out his cigarette and said,
“Christ, Old Timer, keep it down.
She was too young for you anyway.”

“Oh, go to fuck.” I replied.
“That’s my daughter.”

I stumbled into the room
slammed the door
and started looking through my bag
hoping that she didn’t find those little
airplane mini bottles of booze I had
wrapped in my underwear.

There might also be some left
in the baggie I shoved
behind the toilet.

I hoped to God there was some.

I wasn’t anywhere near
sober enough
to handle this.

And I wasn’t sober at all.

At The Bottom of a Snake-pit Fending Off a Dragon

14 Replies

I was in an apartment building
I still have bad dreams about
at the west end of Cambridge
on the tail-end of being high for two days
but I wasn’t even sure on what.

People liked me so they always gave me things
and when I’m drunk I’ll drop whatever
like a champ
because I’m the Pacman
of human garbage receptacles.

For some bizarre reason I sat in a chair
in the middle of the living room
facing the front door
with some broad in my lap.

Seen her around but
never really got her name
just knew that she was trouble and
wondered if she thought the same of me.

Her ass felt good there.
There was enough of it to really make an impression.
I squeezed her breast and kissed her neck.
I didn’t give a fuck who was watching.

The front door opened and some
bald scary motherfucker
drunk out of his mind barged in.

From word on the street
he was bad-ass crazy and addicted to aerosol cans
and as he smashed his half-full beer
against the wall
got on his knees
raised his scarred arms and screamed
something in Japanese
-I believed it.

In fact,
I believed that this man could
start a fight
in an empty house.

The host
a grizzly chain-smoking native
in an torn Iron Maiden shirt
and Hello-Kitty sunglasses
calmly strolled over and started
feeding him uppercuts
like they were half-price at Walmart.

This was all happening right in front of me
so I was about to get up when the girl
wiggled around in excitement.

Sick bitch. I got hard.
I stayed.

Wham!
They were on the floor to the left of us

Wham! Wham!
Now to the right.

How they avoided hitting my chair
and us hitting the floor
to involuntarily join them in this orgy of violence
was an absolute miracle of God
(there is no God here).

Despite all the action
I started to close my eyes
wondering if I would wake up in Mexico
buried in a crate of oranges
when her cool, calm, soft, compelling
voice whispered into my ear
“You’re exhausted, Sweets. Let’s get you to bed.”
I couldn’t talk. I merely nodded.

Wham! Wham! Wham!
Yeah, that shit was still going on.

She got me on the mattress and undressed me
with the proficiency of a
hospital emergency ward
climbed on top of me and started kissing me
or more like trying to stab my tongue to death
with hers.

Her breath was terrible.
Did she ever fucking brush those things?

She seemed so nice, so cool and collective
up until now but this was what it was like
in the snake pit where everyone was vicious
if you gave them time or opportunity.

She turned beast…Dragon!
I felt trapped beneath her fire.
I didn’t want this. Maybe tomorrow.
Probably never.
She was started to make me sick.
Her smell, her weight on me, her tongue, her raspy laugh
-all of it

“Baby, no. I don’t think I can do this. I feel like
my soul is dying. There’s lots of gusto in the other room.
Go find one of them.”

“Fuck that! You’re the prettiest thing here. If you
don’t like it then just shut the fuck up and lie there.”

This was abuse. I was sure of it
because it wasn’t the first time
and I just wanted to turn her over
pin her down, smile and say,

‘So what if I said that to you, huh?
What if I fucking did this to you?’

“Christ, okay.” I replied sheepishly instead.
I was weak as a kitten and this girl
was going to get what she wanted
whether I liked it or not
because at the bottom of the snake pit
it was hard to push off
what slithered all over top of you
and sometimes you couldn’t
see the dragon
until the clothes came off.

So I closed my eyes
as she began to rock
back and forth

back and forth

back and…

What It’s Really Like Being a Writer

8 Replies

I gutted the chapter
because it was downright hideous.
What the Hell was I thinking?
That I could turn this macabre piece of bird shit
into something that was a joy to read?

I felt insane. Defeated.
I might as well jerk off and go to bed
but I was a fighter
because God never stopped pissing on my soul
so I went through it all again
slashing, hacking, mutilating
sometimes screaming as I did so
mostly crying
but I cleaned it out good
and then filled in the blanks
with something that made sense
thinking the whole time:
why was I a writer?
Why the fuck was I a Goddamn writer?
I would never be anybody. I was shit.
What a momentous waste of time!

I pounded at the keyboard
drank some wine
next thing I knew it was four in the morning.
“Jesus wept!” I cried.
I had to go to bed
so that I could wake up early before work
and work on this chapter again
because I was a lunatic in obvious need of rehabilitation.

Writing was a hard line to sell
even to yourself
even for all you other writers out there.

Goddamn you all to Hell.
I need a drink.

Fuck January

Leave a reply

It was -26C out.
I had turned the key twice but my car wouldn’t start.
It would just growl a little then die.
I gave it a dirty look.
It started.

I drove across a city
covered in ice as brittle as glass
and snow turned hard as stone
screaming along to a rap song I hated
but knew the words to anyways.

I passed a kid who had his tongue stuck to a pole.
His was frantically waving his arms about.
I gave him the finger and hit the gas.

I laughed. He looked like a penguin
except that he was holding a cellphone.
There you go, Buddy. Don’t need your tongue to
text your way out of this one.

Text, Motherfucker, text!

I got to her house and barged in wearing a squirrel.
Putting beers in the fridge I wondered why
it was cold as my ex’s dead heart inside
when she came down wearing a parka without pants
because nothing about her made sense
except her legs.

“I have baseboard heating. It’s too expensive.” She said.

I turned on the sink
hoping for some hot water to splash into my numbed face
but the pilot light must have been off because
it came out colder than glacier run-off in Alaska.
North Alaska.
I thought that it could have been
another money saving device.
What the fuck, was she a penguin too?

Penguins, they were everywhere…they were watching me.

I knew her for ten years.
We’ve only fucked twice
and that made me inexplicably sad
all of a sudden
so I cracked open a tall can.

“Really?” She said. “It’s 10AM.”
“Best to get an early start.”
“Why do you always drink?”
“It helps me face the absolute terror of every day.”
“So, you’re a coward is what you’re saying.”

Women were always on the attack with me.
They hated me secretly and used everything about me
against me with relative ease and the reason
that I hung out with them more than other guys
was because I was the biggest fucking masochist on the planet.

“Jesus, is EVERYTHING cold around here?” I shouted
then gulped the thing down.
‘Oh, that’s nice.” I said.

She laughed. “At least your beer is cold.”

“Yes, it is.” I said. “You are so maddeningly beautiful when you’re disappointed in me. Do you have any perks?”

She smiled, turned around and opened a cupboard.

Maria! Maria! Oh, God no…Maria!

3 Replies

We were driving back home on the freeway
doing about 180
both drunk killing tall cans by the minute
trunk stuffed with crushed empties.

Fuck the world
is what he said when he picked me up.

He had just gotten divorced
by some Maria down in Cuba and it was fresh
so often throughout the day
as we laid back on the beach
he would raise his bottle and shout
“Maria!” but it was more than that
it was more like: “Maria! Maria! Oh God no…Mariiiaaaa!”

I suppose those were tears leaking out of his eyes
filled with pain
but I couldn’t see straight by noon
and when we actually left six hours later
he was too drunk to not completely burn out
of the parking lot tires spinning
right in front of a cop who
immediately pulled us over.

“Maria!” He cried. “I’m so fucked.”
“Just be cool and we’ll be fine.” I lied
and got out of the car to start casual small talk
with a cop that was curt
no nonsense all business
what a bore
but he did let us go with just a warning
and my friend started driving away
while I was still half out of the car.

To this day I am completely amazed
that we didn’t get nailed for that
as before we even got out of the cop’s sight
he was already driving like a seasoned maniac
off his meds
with complete disregard for law or life
as I continued to swig back tall cans
wondering why I did this to myself
one maniac after another
because I was a maniac magnet
they come in all forms
cute and cuddly
marauding and malicious
doesn’t matter
they will find me
and turn everything into
what the fuck
in a matter of minutes.

I’m not surprised anymore
I just drink
and the last thing I recall
before arriving home somehow
was pissing in the middle of a busy intersection
with the car idling across somebody’s lawn.

Six months ago
he sent me a photo of himself
all sketched out on blow
surrounded by monkeys
with a terrified look on his face
when I asked him how he was doing.

lately I had received another photo
of him clasping the hearty tits of an
old five-dollar hooker from behind
with the message:
“Merry Christmas from Cuba, Motherfucker!”

Yeah, well Merry Christmas
to you too,
motherfucker.

Maria!