Jan 11, 2009

I quit drinking


1) "Crackle crackle" says any fire you ask. Not kidding, ask it anything: omg can I have a van? It will just smoke and say, "crackle crackle." Well, I got tired of it around Christmastime '97 and I started screaming at the sunuvabitch and now I am still behind a glass partition outside of the city . I swear, all they play here is rap music. All of it, garbage. Give me a good band like the Randymans anyday, you know? I'm gonna miss their millennium party, damnitall.

2) Court and courtesan, motherfuckers. Hand me those jellybeans, won't you? They are on the counter next to the bananas. The bananas are in a big brown bowl. The bananas are still good and if they die, I will memorialize them in bread. The bread will rise like a ghost above its grave, all smattered in flour or spectral waste. Whichever comes first. Rise, bread, rise and turn us slowly into our stones. The black people outside are taunting that poor dog and I know for a fact that they don't live in this neighborhood but who lives anywhere anyway anymore anyway. It's all relative, you see.

3) This isn't the same scenario. I love this girl, but she ain't love me back. Not like last time where I was forcing it, you know? Feels natural like Levis hugging your hips while you sit at the end of the bar sipping whiskey-gingers just before the game starts. Shit, it's already 8 and I ain't been home in 73 hours, not gonna start now. There, the closets are closest to my heart. They'll find the bb gun I used to kill that bird in first grade, but by then I'm long gone-- states away with my pecker running deep in this broad. She wore lace over her lily white shoulders, but that don't mean shit. I'm the damn umbrella protecting us from each other's acid rain. I'm holding up fine, I swear upon the ideal souls of the religious men and you'll never meet better ones. Not here, anyway.

4) Cool it, college boy. You're stepping real close to my dog, Rambone, and he don't fucking shit on anything worse than you. Gimme twenty minutes alone with your girl and she'll beg for twenty more. You ever seen a man skin a shark? Didn't think so. Come to think of it, I'll take that rucksack. Might need something to spit in. Over along the hedges, there's fifty ounces of piss in a series of old-school coke cans. Put 'em there in 1974, when I was studying here. Dropped out to serve my country halfway across the county. Air National Guard. Found my wife in bed with a beagle of a man like you. Ripped out my own throat. Howie Mandel? Hate him. Hate 'em all, that's what I say. I say, you got time? Buy a watch, you bastard.

5) Hands, hands, fingers, toes. Where they go, nobody knows. Hold it-- my phone's ringing. Ugh, creditors. Once, they called me and asked if I was on the right path. I told them, "I've attended more events than in years past, I know that much." To this, they had no answer. I'm wearing a jacket, but it's hot. I'm carrying a credit card, but have nothing to buy with it. I'd purchase shinola before feces, and now, I have to go. There's a sweet showcase tonight at the Bravado Bean. The Colton Seven are playing and those chicks wail.

6) I know that cat will love me. Give me time. I just gotta show my warm side. I just gotta stick out my hand. I just gotta stop believing in myself. I just gotta hold my feet back behind my waist and look vulnerable. I just gotta. Poorly formed excuses, an unfinished book, three birds outside my window with distinctive voices, the exterior of a man well ahead of his own pace at all times: these are the secrets to cat ownership and I've got all of them. That, and that alone is enough to win us all a few carnival prizes or, at the very very least, win that cat over. It will love me or I will die right here, my fake knee to God.

7) Congratulations, man. I knew you had talent, but seven? SEVEN? SEVEN? That is something serious, I swear. I'm really proud. The way you do it, though-- the grease-fire quickness with which you move-- hot damn-- it's something serious. Really very serious. I'm not kidding, brother. You got cannons for legs and pickled arms. I mean, it's cold and you got seven. SEVEN. I love you, and I have never said that to one person in my entire life. Not one time, much less like you. Seven.

8) Serotonin levels low, it seems. Gotta get some meds. Robots won't allow it, though. They mad. They givn me some problems-- yeln. Fukn shit. Gotta get some meds-- tired all of a sudden, nothing within reach and the robots yeln. Oh God, listn. Lissn.

9) I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. I'm around. Gime.

10) This is it. This is the big one. You remember how Redd Foxx used to say that on Sanford and Son? Who've I got to unload these memories on? I'm alone at sixty-three. I won't live to see seventy. Life is a series of disappointments and missed appointments at my age, son. I got wounds I can't reach to lick. I'm licked. I'm a stray dog wandering around my house waiting for someone to take me in. I was cool, once. Wore Brut cologne. Fucked my share of bunnies, drank and drove. It was sport, back then. If I don't touch something soft before I die, Lord knows I'll die guns blazing. I've got the look. Still, after all these years, I've got the look. Fucking Mexicans. They'll get theirs, and mix me a strong drink, wouldja? Say, there, a little more whiskey, a little less of your weak pitching arm. I ain't gotta work tomorrow or nothing. Or ever again, if I don't feel like it. I'll make a series of women cry with passion before it's over, even if I gotta buy 'em and prove something. Fucking Arabs. Nobody gonna tell me how to vote. Give me that drink, I'm thirstier than a snake in a dance club. Good mix, son. The olden days of basketball, this was how you served a drink. Catch the ball with two hands, no dunks, no threes. None. Norm Sloan, Vic Bubas, Red Auerbach, none of this pussy flop shit. Fucking Argentinians and Euros. Nope, none of that. Bill Russell was twice the hero of Reggie Jackson. Three times. Fucking Yankees. John Riggins. No one gonna tell me how to vote. The wise were once the holy, but now, everybody's got a goddamned opinion.

4 comments:

Michael5000 said...

Wow, this is a tough one, but my guess is Number Four!

Business or Leisure? said...

Close. Any other guesses?

Michael5000 said...

Maybe Six?

Oh, sorry. I should let the others try.

Business or Leisure? said...

What others?