Posts Tagged ‘drugs’

420 x 69

September 24th, 2016

Another post where I talk about something I like. Usually when I start to like something I want to know all about it. How it started, where it came from. I try to digest everything I can, information-wise. But this is Lil Debbie we’re talking about. How much do I really want to know about Lil Debbie?



I kind of want to have sex with her but I also kind of want to have her life. Smokin’ the good stuff, drinking the cheap liquor, hanging out with all my cute girlfriends, shaking my ass on the beach not because the boys like it but because I LIKE TO SHAKE IT F.U.M.F.


Slow down, Mike. You’re being too aggro right now. Right now what you need is a California medical marijuana card. Life’s too short for bullshit, right? Why are we getting all caught up drama and bullshit and hate? If that’s the way you’re gonna be, then cut yourself out of my life because I’m all about love and peace and good times and getting that. . .



Sorry. Got distracted. BTW, if you’re into chicks who don’t have tats you are running out of chicks because I think most of them have at least one tat now. Even nuns probably have tramp stamps. All I’m saying is that tattoos better not be a dealbreaker or your dick will be as dry as a desert.


I know a little bit about Lil Debbie but I don’t want to know that much. I don’t want to know what she did before she was doing this. I don’t care about the backstory. She exists for right now. It’s termite art, baby. 420 multiplied by 69.


Some people go to strip clubs on a regular basis.



What You Think About Rock Bottom

May 4th, 2016

I can’t let Prince go. I still have to write about him. He left a lot behind. The music. The memories. And a lot of unanswered questions. Is it possible that Prince would have not made out a will in his fifty-seven years of life? A man worth at least 300 million dollars who had been married and divorced twice, accumulating an infamous vault of unreleased material that could be exploited in many infinite ways not have a will? A man who worked throughout his career to help local charities throughout the country without publicity not have a will? It doesn’t make sense.


I’ve been thinking about the sad last days of Prince. I’ve heard that last show in Atlanta. The second of two shows. A man and his piano lighting up the room, lighting up the world. A take on “Nothing Compares 2 U” that is so profound the man himself walks away from the piano and leaves the stage because it’s simply too much. He sounds alive, as alive as ever. He doesn’t sound frail or ill. He sounds like Prince, stronger than life. More valuable than gold or diamonds.


The man who graced Atlanta’s Fox Theater for two shows on April 14 did not sound like a man who would be dead within a week. He did not sound like a struggling opioid addict. He sounded like a master of his craft, a showman of the highest caliber.


Prince on painkillers got done more before lunch on than most of us will accomplish in a week stone sober. Isn’t that frightening in a way? Not because of what it says about the common person but because it speaks to what we think of when we think of “rock bottom”. We think of shameless, hopeless wretches who are alone, broken down, in the gutter of life. We think of people who end up on “Intervention.” We don’t think of people who function in some ways better than us.


Once upon a time, I had a roommate who was an alcoholic. I should have known because he drank warm, shitty beer. He bought the cheapest stuff and kept it in the box but wouldn’t put it in the fridge on purpose. But he held down a job, had a social life, kept his bills paid and seemed to be in a far better place than I was. Maybe I’m just too far gone and not representative of the average person. But he was definitely an alcoholic. He did better than me because he met a nice girl and moved to the Pacific Northwest, settled down and got married, and started a family. . . which came apart when his wife kicked him out of the house and divorced him. Because he was an alcoholic.


Thankfully his story ends with him getting himself off the booze and resuming a sober life so he can have time with his children. Maybe it’s me who can’t see it when people have hit rock bottom. Maybe I’m the myopic one here. Do I have a bad idea of rock bottom is?


Gang, I may be at rock bottom and not really know it. But I’m sober. Oh shit.

FUBAR From Birth

February 28th, 2016

FUBAR = slang acronym for “fucked up beyond all recognition”


Last night I saw a little boy cry in an elevator. Five or six years old, tops. In the underground parking garage at the KFC Yum! Center in Louisville after a WWE live event.


The boy was crying into his father’s leg. The dad explained to us all in the elevator that he parked the car in a rush and forgot exactly what level he parked his car on. “You’re not really scared that I’m not gonna be able to find the truck, are ya?” That’s what he said to his quietly sobbing son, cruelly.


First of all, it’s a parking garage. It’s not the Sears Tower. How many levels can a parking garage have? Four? Five? At first I thought the kid was just tired at the end of a long night.


Mary and I found her car (it was easy what with her not being drunk like that guy in the elevator with the crying kid). We must have spent thirty minutes in the parking garage waiting to get out. You know event parking at arenas and how that goes, right?


On the way out of the garage, who do we see walking around the parking garage but the same drunk dumbass father and his kid. He still hadn’t found the car. That’s not drunkenness. That’s just pure stupidity. And that’s when it hit me. That kid was not crying out of sleepiness. That kid was sad because he’s seen this movie before. “My dad is a drunk moron. This is why mommy has custody of me.”


Talk about FUBAR out of the womb. That kid is half idiot. I didn’t see a mom with them. I wouldn’t even be surprised if that guy was in the wrong parking garage.


August 25th, 2015

It was hard to be a non-drinker in the social circle. “You don’t drink? Oh, you’re straight edge.” No, I wasn’t straight edge. I just didn’t drink. I still don’t. Nor did/do I have problem with other people drinking. I never thought I was better than anyone else for not drinking or taking drugs. Maybe somebody thought I did.


Every thing I have ever done has been done the hard way. I spent 90% of the time trying to find an easy way to do things, then spent the remaining 10% doing it the hard way. That’s hard work, you know.


It’s hard to pick up girls when you don’t drink and they do. There’s always a wall between me and the people who drink. Always a standoffishness that is never hinted at because I am not engaging in the same get-loose activity as them. What am I, a tattletale? Believe me, I know a lot of things that I don’t speak about. Not to mention the story of how drunk or high you got and how badly you behaved yourself is so boring. You know who else drank too much, threw up, pissed the bed, and put the cat in the fridge? A lot of people. Whether you called your ex at three in the morning or woke up with an electrical tape Hitler mustache and not known how it got there, it’s been done. It’s not even generational. It is as evergreen as. . . evergreen.


“I can’t have sex with this girl. She’s too drunk.” That’s me, Mr. Sober who can’t get his wick dipped because his date drank two pitchers with jello shots. Nobody goes to the bar to not drink except me because I sing in a band that plays bar.


I used to be a non-drinker in the social circle but I’ve solved that problem. I simply don’t go out anymore. My band hasn’t played a bar gig in over a year. Take that, you drunks. I hope I’m not harshing your mellow.

Let’s Go Get Stoned

December 24th, 2013

I am unnaturally grouchy.


These are not good times to be a grouch. Not with holiday gatherings and family dinners and pleasantries. This is not the sort of thing that will do when people are trying to have a good time around you.


I’ve gotten so grouchy that I’ve begun to think marijuana isn’t a bad idea after all. Just kidding, everyone. I don’t want to smoke pot. That would be ridiculous.



But edibles? I’d be down for some edibles right about now. I could use some of Joey Diaz’s banana bread at the moment.


This man will be my spirit animal now.

This man will be my spirit animal now.


When I was a kid, the school Just Say No and D.A.R.E. always used to warn the kids that drugs would not make their problems go away. Which is true.


What they never told you was that many of the problems you will have your in your life will make you feel so powerless that you will eventually look for something to take away how much you worry about them. Hence, drugs and alcohol. Or gambling or pornography or whatever people do to escape.


2014 is going to be a personal disaster. I’m counting on it.