tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79134017464937864432024-03-08T13:11:32.694-08:00The Inebriated Adventures of the Mad Pale KingVictor Lazlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542963390750014296noreply@blogger.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913401746493786443.post-69219650246135296692012-06-18T10:06:00.000-07:002012-06-18T10:06:50.772-07:00Fieber Ich Morgen.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"></span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span> “So
gentleman, what is on the agenda tonight?” I said as I poured myself my usual
two fingers worth of whiskey.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well” my
friend Vincent (who we all called Snake) said, “There is always the Bier Stube.
You know, that German bar across town. They have a three dollar German beer
special tonight.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Thoughts,
concerns?” I said to my friend Tyler as I poured Coke into my glass.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No, that
sounds fantastic. Totally beats drinking in your seventies time machine of a
basement.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>What Tyler
had said was true. While my basement was furnished, its base level decorum
reeked of the drug inspired brown-yellow design pallet of the early 1970’s. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What a strange contradiction this room held </i>I
thought to myself as I looked at a picture of Frank Sinatra hanging on my wall.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Even
stranger to my mind’s eye was that I was listening to Scentless Apprentice off
of Nirvana’s In Utero, as shortly before hand, I had excused myself to my
utility room to take a hit off of my oneie. Grunge was something which I never
enjoyed listening to while high. As Grunge only worked its charm for me when I
was in a depressed mood. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But back to
my cannabis smoking. While I was never the biggest stoner, at the time, I liked
to smoke pot as a way to moderate my drinking as the roar from the tigers of my
addiction to alcohol were placated through poly-drug use.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As I sat on
my bar stood chair, the THC began to work its way through the byzantine
conduits of my brain. I then drifted off from my friend’s conversation about
The White Strips into a thought-play about Neo-Nazis in outer-space fighting
the Allied Earth Nations through giant fighting robot based space battles.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was
brought back into direct consensus when heard the lines “I promise not to sell
your perfumed secrets. There are countless formulas for pressing flowers” which
in the hydroponic/alcoholic daze I was in I mistook as “I promise not to reveal
your secretes. California holds depressing flowers.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Damn,
pot is too much of an effeminate drug.</span></i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> I thought to myself. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">At
least with alcohol you pay the pied piper in the morning and move on without
becoming some strung out, beatnik, hippy. Note to self: quit the drugging as
you can get away with it in your teens but these things start to catch up with
you in your early twenties. Come on, you should be ashamed of how many Led
Zeppelin albums you own on vinyl. Although, who knows, not me, I never lost
control…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Fuck
Nirvana!” I shout aloud suddenly without provocation. Because of this
disturbance, and since I was in the mood to be a totally pretentious dick, I
put on Moondog’s Bird’s Lament:</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“The only one who knows this ounce of
words as just a token, is he who has a tongue to tell but must remain
unspoken.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After a few
moments of group silence I said to my friends. “Ok gents! Let’s finish our
drinks and head out.” I took a hold of my glass, “Chin-Chin!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>raised it in a toast, and then downed my
drink in a few large gulps. The way in which I gulped my alcohol often worried
my family as they decried it as a sign of alcoholism. I mean, from my position
I thought drinking in such a manner was alright as, after-all, I drank for the
affect, not the taste.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As my
friends finished their drinks, I snuck off to the bathroom for one more hit of
weed in an attempt to sober up. After smoking, and tapping out my oneie into
the toilet, I found my friends waiting upstairs. We then jumped into Snake’s
Cadillac and roared off into the countryside towards town.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I sat in the
front seat and put the air conditioning on high as – being stoned and a little
sunburned- the cool jets felt fantastic on my face. Tyler sat in the backseat
and nursed a road beer that he had stolen from my basement refrigerator which
we fondly named the ‘War Chest’ as it was where he put our booty after a few
instances of stealing extra beers from house parties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After
driving for a few minutes, we came across a group of scenester teenagers
standing on a street corner casually smoking cigarettes. Tyler was having none
of this, as he quickly rolled down his window and screamed a homophobic slur at
them. Needless to say, I was disturbed by his behavior. But, whatever, I was
far too unfocused to care since I was jamming out to Stevie Ray Vaughan and
enjoying the cool air conditioning on my somewhat sunburned face. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We eventually
arrived at the Bier Stube and pulled in post position near the front door. As I
got out of the car, I saw that there were a group of bikers smoking outside.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Why
are they smoking outside? Don’t they know that this is a smoke-easy?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Pardon me,
sirs.” I said as I slide in-between two rather rugged looking bikers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My friends
and I walked up to the bar and took our regular seats in front of the tap. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Terri my
dear.” I waved over to the bartender. “How is it going tonight?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You know,
the usual. Just had an interesting conversation before you came in.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What
about?” I inquired. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What are my
short term and long term goals.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What are
they?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Don’t have
any short term goals. But my ultimate long term goal is death.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Terri began
to laugh loudly. I joined in with her but my laughter was obviously forced as Terri’s
nihilism was emotionally bringing me down. Plus while stoned I never liked to
think over the nature of my own mortality. You see, the paranoia from pot
smoking got to me in a similar way to how when you think about breathing you
actually have to actively breathe until you forget about doing so and the brain
takes over once again. That kind of thing but about death. As while high I had
to actively force myself to forget that I was mortal and that eventually one
day out of the blue I would have a heart attack or something and collapse on
the floor. Looking at a door, or a wall, or something trivial from ground
level, I’d probably think to myself as my brain shut down, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This was all so stupid and pointless. Should have done more with my
time. But at least things will get interesting when my adrenal gland releases
its payload of adrenochrome. Oh, there we go. Pretty trippy. Au Revoir</i>!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“We are the
dead Terri.” I sighed after we both stopped laughing. “And since that is the
case, mind getting me an ashtray? I’d like to find my way to heaven a little
bit more quickly if at all possible.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Sure
thing.” Terri said as she pulled out an ashtray from under the bar. “What are
you drinking?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I look over
to my friends and motion to them both with my index finger. “Three dunkels
please.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh good,
you learned your lesson about the Jager.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’ll never
drink that congealed deer blood again. “ I said as I lit a cigarette.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And so we
sat, drank, and bullshited underneath Nazi arms and memorabilia. By this time
of the night, my buzz was settling in nicely. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Feeling good
and numb, I looked up at the glass case over the back bar and saw a picture of
Reichsmarschall Hermann Goering which I considered to be a bit too much in
terms of Nazi decorations even for a German restaurant to have. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then again,
the Bier Stube was a place which catered to people who day traveled to the
countryside. While you might not think that Nazi artifacts would be good for
business. Strangely like most of the other white suburban patrons of the Bier
Stube I found them to be rather charming.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Though
Hermann Goering wasn’t the worst offender at the Bier Stube as they also had an
autographed photo of Adolf Hitler on the far wall to my left. The menacing
visage of the Fuhrer was hung over a collection of S.S. daggers which were
without a doubt used during the Second World War. So I guess I can’t complain
that much about drinking under a picture of Goering as there were far more
sinister images of the Third Reich surrounding me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hey, how
are you?” Someone said to me. I turned around to see that it was Casey, a girl
who I haven’t seen since junior high school.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Casey, it
has been ages. How are you?” I said as I got up from my barstool and gave her a
hug.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Good. How
about yourself?” She said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Can’t
complain. Finished up with school and now just sitting around these days,
drinking a bit too much, and enjoying my unemployment tour until I can find
some work.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That sounds
like fun. Wish I had the free time to do all of that.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Actually
Casey it isn’t fun as it seems. Being a booze hound is in itself a full time
job. Plus I’d like to be able to shit a solid stool for once.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We both
laughed at that commit.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“So, I’d
love to catch up some time. Mind if I get your number?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Sure, let
me write it down.” Casey pulled out a cocktail napkin from the dispenser next
to her and wrote down her number. “Call me sometime.” She said as she handed me
the napkin. “I am usually free during the day. And from the sound of things you
are free whenever. So we’ll grab a drink sometime.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Prefect.” I
said as I put the cocktail napkin in my front jean pocket. “I’ll hit you up
later.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I returned
to my seat and finished the rest of my dunkel. “Got her number dude.” I said to
Snake.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah, can’t
wait to see you fuck up that one.” Snake replied.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What do you
mean?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Come on.
You always do this.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Do what?” I
asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Sure, you
can get a girl’s number. But by the end of the night you are always too shit
faced to remember who it was from.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Honestly,”
I said to Snake, “I am not that big of a drunk.” To prove my point I stood up
from the bar and toed the tile line across the barroom floor in a self imposed
sobriety test. “See?” I said as I touched my index fingers to the tip of my
nose, “As sober as an employee at the Christian call center.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh yeah,
sure, like that proves you’re not drunk. And the Pope shits in the woods.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Snake, the Pope’s
expulsion rituals are not relevant to this conversation.” I said with a look of
disgust on my face. “But since you brought it up. Don’t you think that over the
two thousand years in which the institution of the papacy has been in
existence. At least one Pope has, in your words mind you, took a shit in a
wooden area? Hell, even the Blessed Pope John Paul the Second probably once
took a duce in a wooden area. I mean, considering all that hiking he did
earlier in his life.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Talking
about the Holy Father’s sole representative on Earth like that.” Snake said in
a fake Irish accent. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Just sit the fuck down
and have another drink already.” He motioned to Terri to bring me another
drink.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Not ever one
to refuse a refill. I retook my seat at the bar. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Ah Murphy.”
I said to Snake while also donning a fake Irish accent<sup></sup>. “You’re a
good cop. A damn fine one. But keep gabbing and I’ll kick your West Brit arse.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Terri then
arrived with my beer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ah many thanks,
many thanks, my lady.” I said, still faking the Irish accent. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I took a sip
of my beer, and since I was tired of staring at Goering, my eyes and ears began
to wander around the bar. For a Friday, the Bier Stube was rather empty
people-wise besides the regulars, the staff, Terri the bartender, that group of
bikers I saw when I walked in, and Dawn.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I had known
Dawn since childhood as she was basically the town’s good-time-girl. At
forty-eight, this rather short woman with peroxide blonde hair had been through
hell and back as she spent most of the 2000’s under the spell of one hell of a
methamphetamine addiction. While still abusing drugs, she was like most addicts
who through the grace of poverty and time, was able to minimalize her substance
abuse to a functioning level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My only
vivid memory of Dawn came from when I was twelve years old. I was walking in
town with my Father as we were going to the post office to check his P.O. Box. As
we walked past the bank we just so happened to cross paths with Dawn. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Jack!” Dawn
called out to my Father. She then rushed up to greet him with a big embracing
hug<sup></sup>. “How are you?” She asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh, you
know, still shucking and jiving.” My Father said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That’s
fantastic. Hey, would you mind if I borrowed five bucks?” Dawn asked my Father.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What for?”
He inquired.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I need to
buy a pack of cigarettes.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I tried to
remember what my Father had said to Dawn in response to her asking him for
money to buy cigarettes. I remembered that it was some verbal slight which was
part no-you-can-not-borrow-money-from-me, part you-are-a-drugged-out-whore, and
part get-the-fuck-away-from-me-and-my-boy. Although, it was packaged in such a manner
which made it seem like a positive compliment towards Dawn. My Father was
always a master wordsmith in that regard. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then all of
a sudden, I saw out of the corner of my eye one of the bikers walk up to Dawn
and punched her in the face. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dawn was
knocked off of her barstool and onto the floor. “That’s what you get for fucking
my boyfriend!” The biker said as she pointed her finger in Dawn’s face.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>At this
moment Dawn went from a state of shock to the realization of what had actually
happened to her. She then began to cry. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hey what do you think the big idea is?” Terri
shouted from behind the bar. “You might as well beat up a half-dead dog. At
least it would be able to put up a fight. Get the fuck out of here.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The biker
straightened out her leather vest. “Jimmy, let’s go.” And with that the bikers
left the bar and roared off into the midnight distance. Probably to hit up
Suzie’s Saloon which was a few miles down the road. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After
processing what happened my mood turned quite negative as I hate seeing
violence against women. What more, I hate seeing women crying<sup></sup>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I sat still for
a few moments in silence and tried to lose myself in my beer. In spite of my
attempt to ignore what happened, the only sound in the bar came from Dawn who,
still sitting on the floor, was bawling like a baby. In order to drown out her
tears I began drumming my fingers on the bar counter in an irregular beat. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Eventually
after what seemed like a few minutes I couldn’t take this anymore. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fuck it. </i>I thought to myself. I got up
from my barstool and picked up Dawn from the floor. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hey, hey,
hey. Shh, it’s ok, it’s ok.” I said to her as I held her in my arms.
“Everything is going to be ok.” I took a moment to look behind me and I
realized that everyone was staring at me. By their grievous looks of
what-in-God’s-name-are-you-doing-that-for, I knew that no one was going to call
the police. No one cared about what had just happened to this woman. No one
wanted to deal with her tears. To their minds, what was worse than Dawn being assaulted
was that I was validating her humanity by trying to console her. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hey dude,
we’re getting out of here.” Tyler said. “Come on let’s go.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Fuck off!”
I shouted.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Tyler sighed
and came over to me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Look man.
Let’s get out of here. Come on, Snake will take you home.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I sighed
heavily and released Dawn from my arms. I then placed my hands on her shoulders.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Are you
ok?” I asked softly<sup></sup>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She nodded.
Her weeping had subsided to a few sobs here and there.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Take care
of yourself. Ok?” I said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dawn nodded
her head in response. I then left her under the menacing glace of Adolf Hitler and
the Bier Stube’s collection of S.S. daggers. I looked back at her one last time
as I opened the front door and found that she had somewhat pulled herself
together and returned to her seat. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My friends
and I then rode home in more of less silence as we listened to more classic
rock off of Snake’s IPod. Snake dropped me off at the edge of my driveway. And
once I got out of the car he immediately punched his accelerator to the floor
and jetted off towards the red sky which is produced from the light pollution
of Chicago. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That bastard
loved the V-8 in his new Caddie. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I then found my
way into my house after forcing the door since I had forgotten to take my house
keys. I then had some leftover ham which I cooked in the microwave. I then drank several
glasses of water (it's important to stay hydrated!) and then passed out on the couch with my headphones on while
listening to Nirvana’s Serve the Servants. </span></div>Victor Lazlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542963390750014296noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.629798241.6889521 -87.94565519999999 42.067275099999996 -87.3139412tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913401746493786443.post-69079818306469550592012-06-16T12:11:00.002-07:002012-06-16T12:20:18.229-07:00Flowers in my Heart.<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">There is a flower in my heart that wants to bloom</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Oh no” I say, “I don’t have room for flowers. And
besides, what would people think?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">There is a flower in my heart that wants to bloom</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Sorry, there’s only room in there for rye and tobacco. For I
feel the need to drown myself with these things.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">There is a flower in my heart that wants to bloom</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Stay away! You’ll only screw up the works. I can
only continue on if I am in the wolf.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Although eventually I concede, as there must be room
for a flower</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">On mornings when nobody’s around I like to take it out
and say to it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Don’t be sad. I know that you’re still there. I’m not
going to let you die.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">And when I put it back it seems to have grown a little
bit more beautiful</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I find our secrete pact to be moving, as it has driven
a grown man to weep</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">But I never weep</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Do you? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>Victor Lazlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542963390750014296noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913401746493786443.post-85541912916668499712012-06-15T08:59:00.001-07:002012-06-15T09:07:57.293-07:00The Drown Woman.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
As you drift away on the sea of memories</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I run along the shore and shout that I love you</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But slowly you slip away</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And in spite of life’s frantic pace </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I intend to recover some lost ground</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And yet from time-to-time I still tend to sink back into the
flowing liquid</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As unless I do, I feel, I will undoubtedly drown into the sea of memories</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I last saw you I hesitated to leave your side</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As it did me good to hide my face into your blouse</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For my eyes had become far too disfigured with both regret
and love</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thankfully for both of us the sea of memories is filled with
forgetfulness</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As unless it was we both certainly should have drowned in it</div>Victor Lazlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542963390750014296noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913401746493786443.post-21861597204136834042012-06-14T09:32:00.000-07:002012-06-14T12:20:41.982-07:00Heterosexuality is the opiate of the masses.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wish I was gay.<br />
I really, really, wish that I was gay.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So gay, in fact, that I was the king of the gays and held
court on all things homosexual at my rainbow colored castle located in
epicenter of Boy’s Town. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(Well, maybe not that gay. But at least gay enough to be able to name off
several types of white wine without having to pass of my ignorance with a joke
about Franzia).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But as unfortunate as it is to say. I’m not gay. And sadly
most of you are not either. So let’s just face facts my heterosexual brothers
and sisters and admit to ourselves that we lost the war of “which sexual preference
has the better sex life” years ago, when MDMA and house music swept the gay
community back in the early 1990’s. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Listen, I know for most of us vanilla straight types out
there, the poop shoot is a no go zone of alienation. But if my asshole wasn’t
so extremely tight I possibly would like giving anal sex a try. As my gay friends have told me some very great things about it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But as hard as I’ve tried, I can’t fit anything up there.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And boy, how have I tried….</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But back onto the topic on hand. I believe that out of all the sexual
persuasions out there gay dudes have it the best. As we breeders
are sadly cursed to spend our evenings in with our lovers doing stupid shit
like watching romantic chick flicks on Netflix. And other boring tedious soul
crushing things which no straight man should ever have to do.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And while we straight men are doing these stupid things, the stereotypical gay dudes
are out there dancing the night away and doing other cool shit like throwing pride
parades, going to a tranie filled cabaret, and buying expensive glassware. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here are
just some things that come to mind when I picture myself as my idealized
homosexual doppelganger:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1.) I’d automatically be a part of a fantastic club scene that wasn't filled with drunken college girls who don't know how to hold their liquor. Or that bad things tend to happen when you put too much blow up your nose. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
2.) I imagine that I would have more casual sex than I
already do. Perhaps I am just stereotyping, but a large part of me thinks that there are a lot more available fish in the sea if sucking cock is your thing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
3.) I’d probably have great abs. (But if by some vengeful
act of the gay gods I didn’t. It would still be ok. As I would have my own sub-gay
community of bears which would still perform<span class="st"> fellatio on me</span>). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
4.) I’d
probably have a boyfriend who treated me very well. I mean, we’d probably be one of
those couples which everyone just said “Oh they’re just so perfect for one another”. We probably would be so perfect together, in fact, that even
the most right-wing nut job would just break down and say that it would be crime
for anyone to stand in the way of our love. For it flowes as easily and
beautifully as an afternoon summer’s rain.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And there you have it. All the reasons why I wish I was gay.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And while in the past I’ve tried fixing myself by going to several straight to
gay conversion therapists. At the end of the day I still always
find myself masturbating to Bangbros.com.<br />
Which is a heartbreaking shame. Especially when I am reminded of my heterosexuality each and every time I give one of my lady friend's pearl necklaces of both the literal and figurative variety. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Woe is it to be a heterosexual in the early days of the 21<sup>st</sup>
century. As straight love no longer has any romance to it. I'll even say it aloud that the only true romance
left in the West is gay love. And as such, it does my heart good to see true
love each and every time I find myself in Boy’s Town with a lady friend
of mine. Who just so happens to be wearing a pearl necklaces of mine of both the literal and figurative variety.</div>Victor Lazlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542963390750014296noreply@blogger.com0300-310 S Federal St, Chicago, IL 60604, USA41.8781136 -87.629798214.841994099999997 -128.05948569999998 68.9142331 -47.200110699999996tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913401746493786443.post-51600354859170880902012-06-13T11:39:00.000-07:002012-06-14T08:00:41.658-07:00Being sober at a bar: Or the things that I noticed when I was there not drinking.<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Every serious drunk picks up at least several interesting
stories during their drinking career. These tales of inebriation usually
revolve around saying vulgar things, getting yourself into dangerous
situations, or a mistake of a sexual encounter which your friends will mockingly
celebrate you for later. </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">In terms of my drinking history, I have to say that when I
picked it up seriously at 18 until I more or less stopped at 21, I had a good,
consequence free run minus the various social faux pas which I committed while
drunk. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">But long story short, I am pretty much done abusing alcohol
to an extreme level as I have too much going on these days not to be sober most
of the time. And I’ll even admit that the great majority of the time I do very
much enjoy being sober. Since it is the only way in which I can run on all
cylinders. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Yet on the other hand, I always did find it rewarding
worshiping Bacchus. And that thought always makes me want to get shit-faced. But
when that thought comes over me there are a couple of topics which I like to think
over in order to placate the howls from the beast of my addiction. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">You will lose a lot of
weight not drinking</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Since I cut back on drinking back in 2011 I am down to almost
150lbs. And as such, most morning my body thanks me for not downing a six-pack
the night before. You are welcome body. Now if you would only let me to get to
sleep easier I probably wouldn’t ever feel the need to drink again. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Drunks are ugly</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I cannot help but staring at drunks as they stumble out from
bars in the wee hours of the morning. To my eyes they are all just so very
ugly. And yet that was me for awhile as alcohol abuse takes a huge toll on ones
body. Thankfully now that I have gotten my depression under control, I don’t
have to look forward to sporting a beer belly or a bulbous nose. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">It’s really cool not
wasting all your money on booze</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Seriously, when you look at your expenses, you’ll be
surprised how much of your money goes to drinking. And while I still smoke far
too many cigarettes, at least this one expensive addiction is reasonable in
comparison to taking 80 bucks out of an ATM and pissing it away in a few hours.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">But sadly your sex life
will diminish</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Without social lubricants, my pick-up skills are essentially
pretty worthless. I mean, where do most people usually go for first dates? Bars,
of course! What do people do in order to dissolve the dating jitters? Get a little
drunk, of course! Consider the last time when was the you kissed someone for
the first time sober or had sex with someone for the first time sober? Jesus,
the prospect of doing those things while dry are frightening to say the least.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">And yet, it’s cool not feeling
so shitty in the morning</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Without alcohol in my system, I have a tendency to wake up
before the sun rises and I go for a run. But with a hang over, I unfortunately forget
how beautiful the world is. And honestly, sometimes I find it is so
breathtakingly beautiful that the words at my disposal barely seem right for
the occasion.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I’ll admit that it is hard at times to live with yourself and
with sobriety you lose an easy escape mechanism for your troubles. But all the
same, I find it rewarding to be able to confront my problem head on as I
usually succeed in overcoming them when I don’t have alcohol in my system. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>Victor Lazlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542963390750014296noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913401746493786443.post-20092679916606971552012-06-13T11:24:00.001-07:002012-06-14T08:00:21.938-07:00I Make Love to Myself Far Better Than You!<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">During my life I have only tried to send love from my tongue (which
in all honesty lives in the mouth of a well spoken simpleton). But I’ll confess,
that at times I would rather be an emasculated, complain-ee, than do what is
necessary in order to create for myself happiness. And while I am not always so
steeped in self loathing, there are moments when I must remind myself that -
generally speaking and in most instances - my will is good. </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">For some reason that I do not know why my life always had a
strange way of taking interesting and obtuse turns. I think that this was the
case mainly because I made the promise to myself years ago to always say “why
not” in place of “why”. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">But these days I am trying to change and not be so open to
the insanity that I aspired to years ago. My life goals now are more based upon
the idea of trying to be more happy, more merry, more of a better person. Hopefully
I can put all of that craziness behind me as all the warnings from the college
lifestyle 101 are now no longer valid. Which I am quite thankful for as the
college lifestyle was not conducive towards the positive life choices which I
am trying to make these days. And also admittedly, I haven’t felt excitement
about undergraduate education for a long time now. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">But back when I was still in school there were times in which
I would smoke cigarettes outside my school’s building. And during these mini-cancer
sessions, I would sometimes find myself staring at the freshmen who are just
beginning their higher education careers. Behind my neon-colored vintage
Ray-Bans, my eyes would pierce them like a Vietnam veteran with a thousand yard
stare. Filled not with hatred but rather with a mournfully
intrusiveness over these kids. As to me, they all still held the innocence of a
person who has not yet been broken by the world. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Sometimes, if I was in
a reflective mood (which smoking cigarettes generally puts me in) I would try to
remember back to when I was in their shoes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">When I do this strange memories tend to flood back to me. Four years later.
It seems like a lifetime. Or at least a main era. Chicago in 2008 was a
very special time and place to be a part of. Maybe it meant something. Maybe
not. I can hardly place myself there when I try to remember those devil may
care days back when I was 18.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">In someways, it is a fool's task trying to look backward and remember yesterday. As the past is a hard thing to truly know. I think a lot of people who
write about past eras are biased by their trade, special interests, or personal
perspectives. But objectively for me, it seems entirely reasonable that the embodiment of
an era can come together at a central point. And in my world, that central point was Chicago in
2008. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I guess my central memory of that year mainly centers on a
handful of nights (or should I say early mornings). When I used to go see a
show at the Metro in a state of being half crazed. And afterwards instead of
going home like a normal person. I would hop on the L and bomb southward toward
the Loop or some student’s apartment located in an ethnic neighborhood like
West Englewood or Pilsen. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">During those days, there were youthful indiscretions in every
direction. No matter where I went I was sure that I’d find some party, some
adventure, some easy sex; or at least something interesting. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Yet in spite of all that debauchery in the air, the climate
of 2008 was filled with sparks and sing-songs of reform. As with the election of
President Obama, we were to finally put away the 9/11 era and move onto
something new. Something bold. Something which wasn’t based in negativity or prejudice.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">And I think that, sex and drugs aside, reform was the main focus of
2008. As simply, there was this
sense in the air of inevitable victory over those indescribable forces behind the curtain
which had been keeping us down. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Or maybe I just feel that way because on November 4<sup>th</sup>
2008 I was smoking a joint and drinking vodka straight from the handle with a
couple of Latin Kings. So in all honesty, I haven’t the faintest clue to the
validity of any of the above statements as that era for me was a blur of booze,
drugs, and having to fake orgasms. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">But I digress…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Although, if these four long years have taught me anything. It
is that everyone needs to drop the frustration, guilt, and empathy; which we
all have for one other. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">While there is certainly good in everyone. Our sentimentality
is making us reckless with our hearts. So stop loving each other so much! You all
just make me so fucking sad. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I just don’t think that I can handle <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">les miserables enfants </i>anymore...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I know. I know. I am just a sad, unappreciative, Scorpio.
Jesus man. Why don't you just enjoy it? I don't know! Stay sober and go for a jog or
something. The serotonin will eventually flood back into your brain. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">But whatever the truth may be. I know that my self loathing
is always for certain. But in spite of that, at least at the end of the day I
can make love to myself far better than you can! </span></div>Victor Lazlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542963390750014296noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913401746493786443.post-76555913012986526012012-06-13T11:06:00.000-07:002012-06-16T12:17:01.583-07:00I Find Having Casual Sex Difficult While Sober.<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Let me start off by saying that you are a weird-o unless you
find it is easy being naked in front of someone who you have been dating for
awhile. One of the good things about a committed relationship is that over time,
you get to know every scrape, scar, and freckle; which your partner has on
their body. And unless you are a complete sociopathic deviant, in some strange
way, you will eventually learn to grow fond of their imperfections as they
become endearing marks of their individualism which can be view similarly as
tattoos. </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Hopefully dear readers, if you are like most couples, your
committed relationship sex will eventually become as trivial as paying your
MasterCard or shaving. I mean, unless you pay your bills and keep a decent
looking appearance bad things tend to happen to your life. It is the same with
your sex life. Just get in there with your lady or fellow and punch-out a quick
sesh. And afterwards, you can watch all the Becker you damn well please with a
complete knowledge that you just did a relationship check-up. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">In this important (almost as important as achieving orgasm)
way, sex is a way more accurate barometer to the health status of your
relationship than any unrestricted conversation between lovers could ever
provide. Even us frigid White Americans, speak many more volumes about how we
feel through our bodies than we do through our tongues (Unless you are into
spelunking. Then by all means, deliver volumes onto the world with your silvery
tongue of sexual justice!). </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">But for those of us who enjoy the chase of uncommitted sex, the
first time fucking someone sober can be wicked scary as the feeling of seeing
some near stranger naked in front of you holds a weird combination of being
turned on and frightened at the same time. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Now for those unlucky souls amongst us who could not handle
their substances and had to throw themselves at the feet of sobriety. Sober
casual sex becomes for us a strange and new unexplored field. Sobriety, that old
devil. The harbinger of peace and mutually respectful interactions between
individuals since the creation of mankind. The idea of it alone makes me sick.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">But regardless of my personal views on inebriation and sexual
intercourse. There are unfortunately people amongst us that for personal
reasons must be on the wagon.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">As sad as it is to say, these poor individuals no longer have
the ability to achieve the quick ego boost gained by drunkenly seducing someone
without any further expected commitment. For those people, sober casual sex is now 100%
honest since they can’t blame on the whiskey this time. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">And yet from my own personal sober casual sex experience.
Knocking boots with some near stranger while dry delivered me the chance for
hypersensitivity and emotional exposure. So in this way, I have come to realize
that sober casual sex has the potential of delivering some of the greatest, and
at the same time, most horrifying experiences which you are capable of. Just
let me tell you that you must be comfortable with the strange realness of
someone’s beautiful body hitting you in the face and demanding your total
attention.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I mean, it’s not like she took my clothes off just to take
them off and then said to me, “Well, there you go, your clothes are off.” When
we were standing naked together there were no doubts our intentions.
She wanted me for me. And I personally found that to be an Earth shattering concept. Because
sex while sober is no longer just a drinking game like beer pong. There is now
a meaning behind it because two souls are now trying to express something by
it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">So what I found out from that encounter is that when you’re
sober you have no other choice but to be yourself. And in a lot of ways, such
honesty is a scary beautiful thing. With sobriety, you’re forced to open your
eyes and really connect with that other person. And if you are like me who got
through a good period of his life with a perpetual inebriated mask on, that’s
when you will find yourself at your most vulnerable.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">From what I have found putting down the bottle a bit is that
the main handle on sobriety is that it doesn’t give you a choice but to feel. And
once I got a couple of weeks under my belt and thankfully finger blasted somebody, I
was just moved by the idea that someone else wanted to say to me with their
body “Liquor or not, I want you exactly the way you are”. </span></div>Victor Lazlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06542963390750014296noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.629798241.6889521 -87.94565519999999 42.067275099999996 -87.3139412