My baby is being such an asshole right now. He’s so needy. Whining, crying, insisting on not napping. It’s impossible to get anything done. Now, see. Here we are, seeped so deeply in irony and meta-story telling that I feel like I’m at the carnival, you know, in the house of mirrors. What am I not able to do? Well, my only real things to do today are take care of this baby and write about it here, so he’s actually fulfilling my needs by keeping me on my toes re: his needs, and giving me fodder to bitch about here. Also, he’s helping to make sure that I stay self aware and glib, you know, as per the style of the times. So, wow. Looks like we’re all the way back to square one. Of course, there are other things I could do. I could see how much of the Jim Beam bottle in the kitchen I could put away between crying bursts (mine, not the baby’s). I could get dressed, eat breakfast, take a shower or whack off, but none of these seem interesting to me right now. Besides, isn’t the notion of me in my underpants, unshaven and gross, sitting beneath a lone, bare lightbulb hanging from a wire, typing at my computer while my old timey fridge door hangs askew from its empty body a really romantic one? I think so. Man. I SHOULD drink some whiskey. That would really push this into pulp territory, huh?
The neighbors loved him, but he was a “Drunk Dad!”
(Tagline)- “Officer, I thought the baby was a bowl of pretzels!”
Nah, I’m not drunk. I don’t really plan on drinking whiskey today either. I like whiskey though. Whiskey and vodka are like two sides of a seesaw. So, I drink whiskey mostly in the winter and very late at night. With whiskey, I get mellow, slow and eventually kind of dumb, and maybe, if the mood is just wrong enough, a little depressed. Nevertheless, it’s the taste I like and the best way to unwind, drinking wise. I prefer bourbon on the rocks. Something nice if you’re buying, but generally, I’ll just do Jim Beam (but never Jack Daniels. That shit tastes like maple syrup. If I wanted the taste of Jack Daniels, I’d go to IHOP. Anyway…)
On the other side we have vodka. Vodka paired with club soda is refreshing when it’s warm out, immensely drinkable and somehow has the opposite effects on me as whiskey. It makes me more talkative, makes my brain work a little faster and puts me generally in a manic good mood. Vodka also tends to bring out my jokey, funny side. The thing is, vodka is also the drink that makes me think I’m really funny when I’m just being really offensive, and it makes me do dumb things, so it’s not all happy days with vodka. I usually drink vodka until the day that I wake up and I’ve pissed someone off, or just embarrassed myself, then I decide, ‘okay, hoss, enough vodka for a while. Let’s mellow you out.’ After this little talk, the next time I drink, it’s whiskey. That will last until I’m sick of the morning cobwebs and being such a lazy sack of shit. Then, guess what? That’s right! Vodka.
I know what you’re saying: Where’s beer fit into this equation? Well, beer’s not drinking. It’s beer. You have a beer with lunch, you know? You can have a beer in almost any situation…I mean, there’s a law in parts of Texas that say that if you can prove you’re on the shortest route to your house from work and you just got off, that you can drive and drink a beer at the same time. That’s not gonna fly with a gin and tonic, you know? Okay, mom! Yeah, people still get drunk from beer, and they crash cars and kill pregnant ladies and cut down young eagle scouts in the primes of their lives and all that. True. True. I can’t argue with that. All I know is, if you want to get wasted, why are you drinking beer? That’s like eating popcorn for dinner, or sitting through church for the wine…
You know what’s good? Sparks. It’s an energy drink/malt liquor. So, yeah, it’s basically Red Bull and Old English in the same can. It looks like battery acid and I always dismissed it as robot dog piss until my good friend Toby insisted I try one when I was hung over. “make sure to drink the whole thing” he told me with the bedside manner of a Costa Rican doctor. Well, sure enough, Toby was right. Sparks is a miracle hangover cure. I don’t care if you’ve been chugging beers or doing hits of E, a sparks or two will mop up those puddles of depression and make you feel like rubbing elbows at some lame party faster than you can say “stomach ulcer? What do you mean, doctor?”
I think maybe I’ll do a pairing list sometime soon, like different drinks and the best music to listen to, or the best activities to plan around your cocktails, something like that. I might even do it today if I get the time. You know what’s perfect for blogging in daytime? Sparks. There’s one in the old timey fridge now. Gotta run. Godspeed, dildos.