In the wise, wise words of the immortal Mr. Bojangles, "I drinks a bit". In fact, there are good solid chunks of my 20's that live on in the fog banks of my memory. Scotch has long been my best friend in the world of spirits, but due to many reasons (mostly cost related) I have always spent the majority of my time with beer. I'm a fan. Beer, Scotch and Vodka were constant companions throughout my restaurant years.

I bring this up for really only one reason. It could help explain the next jumble of words I'm about to subject you to. Although, I must admit that it is a personal favorite. I even remember writing it, drunk, when the evening it chronicles finally ended. Grab a drink and enjoy.



The Dimestore Wisdom pours from my mouth
As the liquor pours from the bottle,
And I'm exactly where I like to be.
Wrapped up inside the Golden Buzz.
Still mostly aware
But at the same time, oblivious.
Just kind of drifting.
I'm drunk and amusing myself
(And everybody else, for that matter)
With tales of my escapades
And one-up games with the rest of the reformed fuckups.
And we're killing the time
And our minds
And it all seems a little surreal.
But I'm happy for a change
And who cares if I look like an idiot?
I'm not here for them anyway.
And they're definitely not here for me
It's just that nobody likes to drink alone,
It takes all the fun out of it.
"Another round!" we cry
As we delve into the history of time
And the meaning of life
(Not to mention who we'll end up with
When the lights come on)
And here I am again,
Searching for the profound.
I tend to get philosophical when I drink.
The answers may not be at the bottom of the bottle
But for me, at least
The questions sure as hell are.
But no time for that now!
There's a beer to be drunk
And a shot to be shot
And a very cute waitress to deliver it all.
"A whole hour til last call?"
So what if I have to work in the morning?
I'm talking Kerouac dammit!
And this blonde on the right might my next ex.
No, Tequila is not my friend
But I've been through Hell and back with Vodka
And we still talk.
Suddenly the place gets bright.
Time to go already?
What the hell, I've got Scotch at the house
And no sleep is better than a little.
Fundemental truth of life.
So the higher level drunks retire to my aboad
To continue the revelry
(And the blonde comes too).
And so we finish the evening right;
Blissfully, catatonically drunk as the sun comes up.
Work in two hours?
But I've still got beer
And half a bottle of single malt.
Fuck it, I've done it before.
One by one the drunks abandon me
For their homes or my floor
And I'm alone and drunk
And still amusing myself.
Screw work.


(Editor's note: This "poem" brought to you by the words And & So)

And that, Gentle Reader, is a pretty good summary of my early 20's. My liver thanks you for your support.