I sat on a Zoom call with a dude from the other side of the globe, somewhere in New Zealand.
I was emotional; I needed a fucking drink. I damn sure needed to get laid, not from some dude in New Zealand that was just a phase in my life in the college I never went to.
We were talking all the shit you do when you go sober, you know.
All the good shit like the drinks, the binges waking up next to something that looks like it escaped the zoo or Area fifty-one.
And trying to figure out the bullshit you were going to sell your chick like.
"Honey, I just lost track of time. You know how I am about work. I got to slow down. I really miss you, though, sugar."
"Oh yeah, that's funny. I recall you said you had to broaden your horizons as you proceeded to make a total jackass of yourself, leaving with some woman who looked like Abdul, the tent maker does her dresses."
"Wow, that's fucked up, sweetie. I'm so sorry, but..."
"And furthermore, you left with that bitch in my goddamned car, you asshole!"
"Well, honey, I mean, since I have to return your car, can I at least take you to breakfast?"
She hung up, and she seems a bit distant since she moved away, but well yeah...
But enough with the foreplay children.
There I was talking about my lunacy to a total stranger thinking to myself, what the fuck am I doing hanging with this lame ass fuck.
As after a few tears because apparently I was on my period at the moment.
This stranger looked at me as I apologized for being a total fucking loon as he broke the silence.
"Aww, no worries, mate, that isn't nothing.
One time, on a good bender, I went to sleep and burned down my house!"
"Holy shit, dude! That's awesome, how the hell are you still alive, man?"
I quickly replied, laughing to the shock of my new friend of sobriety.
"Umm, well, I woke up when it was burning, I meant mate.
Yeah, anyways, don't beat yourself up. I wrecked plenty of relationships along with cars, used to wake up and have to text friends just trying to find out what the hell I had done the night before."
"Dude, you're great, man; I wish you were here. You be great to drink with fucking goddamned awesome!"
My new friend went dead silent and had to quickly excuse himself as I soon found myself banned from that said online meeting as apparently I was a bit too messed up for my legion of former drunks.
You know, I am starting to believe I may just have a problem.
I really miss my New Zealand buddy, as apparently, he fell off the wagon. I mean, I feel bad kind of.
The first step is realizing you have a problem. I am oh so self-aware, of course. Maybe next time, I shouldn't wear a Hail Satan T-shirt and be sipping a beer.
They said I could be myself after all.
Am I evil? Yes I am.
Toodles
John Patrick Robbins identifies as Tri-Sexual as he likes to try just about everything he can in multiple states.
He is newly sober and absolutely fucking miserable. He enjoys finger painting with his victim's blood and worshiping the devil on Taco Tuesday, never Weiner Wednesday.
He is the official mayor of crazy town, and after some of his escapades can barely look his dick in the eye in the morning.
He is currently the Dolly Parton Museum and Water Park curator in Anchorage, Alaska.
He is a Super Bowl champion who has never played the game and is a habitual liar.
His hobbies include stalking his publisher, collecting used stamps, and consuming human flesh to remain immortal.
He is also a competitive onion ring tosser and hot oil wrestling legend. He once pissed on an electric fence, he hasn't been right ever since.
Comments
Post a Comment