my name is loser
and i’m a real alcoholic
i break down alcohol 40 percent faster than non-alcoholics
and 50 pecent of other alcoholics
i break alcohol down into a chemical that is very similar
to formaldyhyde
its called acetaldehyde
dont even ask me how to pronounce it
dont ask me to pontificate
or clarify
because i’m getting to the jist of the matter
and cant be bothered with minutia
i’m an idea man
an ideal alcoholic
i wasnt created by environmental issues
1. mean daddy
2. slutty mommy
3. father flannigan
4. mental illness
a.bipolar
b.tripolar
back to acetaldehyde (fucked up word to have to type)
my liver cant deal with the sheer volume that i produce
so the excess gets mixed up with
seratonin and dopamine and becomes a substance that my body
thinks is
OPIATE OPIATION
it fills the opiate receptors
and explains the attraction

as for the other alcoholics
many are too stupid to drink
too crazy to drink
undiciplined children that ask the coppers to beat the shit out of them
just plain old people who grew up traumatized
the pukers
pukers should have their own 12 step program
puking is a sure fire way of knowing you’re not happy
nose like a firehouse
apologizing between heaves
eats shoots and heaves
thats all

  i get bored easily
therefore i stir up shit
i annoy
i enjoy
“its not aimed at anyone”
dylamn bob dylamn bobdamnit
and i fear boredom i hate boredom
i just love to be entertained
and i happen to have a lotta time on my hands
i’m sorry
but i need to stay occupied
and i cant fucking walk (or stand)
until the medical beauraucracy gets done running its course with me
you see
i have insurance
but they dont want to fix my knees because i’m fat and they figure that its my fault that my knees have gone south
but i have sturdy
stout legs
the legs of an austrian ridge trudger
a swiss little stout man w2addling to and fro
to the next pup you see
the next pub i see drinking stout lager and stomping my way through life
my wife is talking to me as she packs my bags
i’m off to seattle tommorow
and i have to go back and spell bearaucracy correctly
its this placemarker thing in my brain and as i write its nagging away that i’ve misspelled a word (twice now)
and i’ve bugged my wife into “the shits”.
can you believe that the spellchecker didnt catch the waddling word with the numeral in it?
and what does this blog have to do with alcoholism?
well..an alcoholic wrote it.

i seem to be in the eye of the storm
a full moon storm
whereveyone goes the wrong way but me
this happens a bit
when i get out of whack but its not me
i’m ok
you’re not
and all i feel is pain coming in from the moonbeam masses
you wanna talk about fear?
i cant. i’ve already planned my death my suicide
i know what the bottom is for me
if i have some notice
if i have a choice i will be drunk on the day i die
but thats just me
i’m ok today i’m living right here right here
but i know the pain of a lover leaving i know the ripping guts out pain
i wasted so much time in it too much time in it
and soon i’ll be swept up in the moonshine myself
the ability to feel pain  to sense pain is bonded to the gift of great joy
all of my defects are indeed my greatest assets
and i wouldnt change a thing

 the dark side
leg crack
smokin weed i grew in basement
guns, rap, blackjacks and ass smacks
humility is sharing who i really am
fat hookers..real fat hookers
i’m a fat bastard and i like fat hookers
that smoke weed
smoke pole
smell my nasty nuts
smell my darkness
nothing wrong with a little testicle odor?
nothing wrong with waking up to poontang dragging across my lips
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb

repeat after me a lot of thymes just over and over do something like something like something like
chicken in a bucket with a soda pop can
blue blew put a color lame sexual practices practices
sexual practice practices sexxual pver and over and over practising and practicing the sexual practices of sex.

 i like fast food
“lou, stop!” timothy leary is here and wants me to stop.
what are all those icon?
 like 99 cent shamans, right?
99 cent religion
my vagina hurts
i was on a rock smoking rock sucking cock
when my hair my long hair
paul revere
hair whipped into my eyes and said
cut you hair or i’ll kill you
and i stopped looking at all the tatoo’ed law students
and wondered why my hair
the flip hatz and the pedal leads
the bro’s like those dudes that drive those big trucks
monster muggers with nutsacks on the hitch
anyway why did my hair grow long?
why did i let it get into my eyes?
because i need the feedback from
your eyes it is what i live for
 the feedback that you give
the reflection of my projection
it gives me reason to live
arent all tatoo’s meant for others to look at?

god is the absence of

BULLSHIT ULLSHIT ULLSHIT LLSHIT IT IT IT
one big open “god box”
what human pollution can you add
draft saved

Frankie strolled around my house in nothing but gym shorts. He’d been there for three days and I was tired of him. I jumped on his back and hooked my toes over his shorts.

Frankie whirled and slammed me into the wall. I got my arms around his neck and held on. He whirled again, lost his balance, and fell to his knees, skidding on the carpet.

“Yeeeee!” he squealed.

I jumped off his back, grabbed the stupid gym shorts, and ripped them from his wobbling ass. His little nipples scraped upon the carpet as I pulled off the shorts.

“Aarrrrrrhhee!”  His screaming pitched higher.

My dick became engorged.

Frankie scurried to his feet and staggered headlong down the narrow hallway. I caught him quickly, with loping gaits, and pulled the gym shorts over his head. Down to the carpet he went with me on his back. My dick landed right in his butt crack. He raised his ass to try and flee, but I had a grip on the gym shorts and buried the head of my dick in his ass.

“Waahhhh!!!”

I could get it in no further. There was a burning pain around the shaft.

“It hurts, it hurts, it HURTS!” Frankie was breathing hard under the gym shorts.

“Goddamn, tell me about it!” I said.

I pulled the head of my dick out of his ass, half expecting to see veins and corpuscles where the head used to be. The head was still there, covered with a slime of unknown origin.

Frankie farted gently and the same slime bubbled from his butthole.

I buried my dick to the halfway ring.

“Yaaaahhh!!” Frankie squalled.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout”, I said. “I told you to leave yesterday.”

“I’ll leave! I’ll leave!”

“Too fuckin’ late.”

This shit was starting to work for me. I worked my cock in and out with small strokes, gaining ground in centimeters.

“Ooo yeah”

“Pull it out! Pull it out! Hunnnnnngg!”

My cock was buried balls deep. The whole hallway smelled like fresh shit. I could hear Frankie breathing steady under the gym shorts. I rammed it home steadily now. Little farting noises came from his ass on the thrust in. Frankie grunted pooping grunts as I pulled out. It felt like his ass was pushing my dick out, shitting my dick out. I loved it.

Then I felt the burn in my nuts. I knew I was gonna blow my load into Frankie’s guts.

“Yeeeeeaaaaaaaahhhhggggg yeah yeah yeah yeah yeeeaaahhhhiiuiaahhh….”

I fell onto Frankie’s back, collapsing like a corpse. His ass heaved and my cock popped out. There was a peanut attached to the head of my dick. A piece of lettuce or something was wrapped around the shaft.

“You ate my cocktail nuts?? Get out you homesteader!”

And off he went.

Fuck Frankie.

  memorial day part two. i started drinking again last memorial day. i stopped yesterday (this memorial day).
  i dont know if i’ll stay stopped. i’ve stopped before.
 the big book sits here with the little circles. evidence of coasterism.
all my directories were used for coasters too.
its this god thing. i got thru bill’s story there and i can relate to the spirit of the universe, the mechanism that is as profound as the precision of the game of baseball.
  as far as i know, a human invented baseball.
 i cannot relate to an all knowing conscious god that can permit the horrors of this world to accumulate.
 i cannot drink and take my cholesterol medication. so i quit my lipitor last memorial day. my doctor ordered a blood test and my triglycerides were above 1300. my liver function test was 41.
  he told me to get back on the lipitor.
  we just did another test and my triglycerides are 250, but liver function (alt)? was at 129. off the charts. i can
 1. quit lipitor and have an imminent heart attack (soon).
 2. i can die of liver disease (i  dont think i can spell cirrhosis).
 3. i can quit drinking again and persuade myself  that the same god that put me in this jam can save me.
 4. i can try to rediscover the clockwork of the universe and worship the mechanics of my temple.
   so it looks like its 3 or 4.

love is coming.
love is coming to a funeral near you.
lonely roads are lonely roads by definition.
no one else is there.
recumbent velocipedes/
now that’s a lonely road.
‘67 dodge dart with an eight track
RUN THRU THE JUNGLE
RUN THRU THE JUNGLE
AW DON’T LOOK BACK
ditches
cornfields
harmonicas
give me a taste
a taste of that strawberry hill
 a taste of that fidelity
innocent fidelity