Al Koholic repents for his magnificent self-abuse.
My Liver, My Enemy
I need to start this off with a public apology.
To all those whose lives I've touched or came across these past three brutally long days, I'm sorry.
I'm sorry, if not for the fact I have no recollection of what I've done, but for the things I'll probably wind up doing again this weekend. You see, as I write these words and do my best to control the spastic shaking in my hands due to acute alcohol poisoning, it's starting to sink in. Yes, indeed, Al ol' boy, you've been awake for about 37 hours now. 37 hours, with 98f that time drinking heavily, smoking pack after pack of Marlboro Reds, line after line of Colombia's finest import sliding down my nasal passages into my brain, and all in the name of glorious debauchery.
For you see, I'm coming off the ass end of a 3 day bender, but as I sit here trying to justify why exactly I've pushed myself to the heights of self-destruction, I can no longer lie to myself or make it appear glamorous. No, folks, these past few days imbibing all manner of poisons weren't in celebration of someone's honor or demise. No victorious event was celebrated and extolled by myself and the others. Nope, none of these things. Because simply put, as self-loathing starts to take up permanent residence inside my gut and regret comes knocking on my door, I realize this bender is the result of one simple reason:
I can't say no.
No matter how much I tell myself when I awake in the morning, "Albert. Now listen to me. This is your liver and brain speaking on behalf of your soul. Just stop...for ONE night, for God's sake, just stop poisoning yourself. Learn some self-control and self-respect, you stupid weak willed Irish fuck bastard cuntwhore." But again, I can't say no. Offer me a drink, and I shall consume it. Show me a pill, and I shall tell you to pop it into my mouth. Cut up some lines of Devil Powder, and I'll roll up the 50 dollar bill. It's a vicious and ugly cycle, most likely destined for me to wake up in some wastelined gutter, clutching desperately at an empty bottle of Thunderbird wine, the words "Bloody Crackdown" on my lips, and addiction consuming my mind. But for now, I'm enjoying myself, and could give two fucks less what anybody thinks. In an effort to cleanse my soul of the things I have done these past three days, I'm making a public apology to the following people:
To my now and most recent ex-girlfriend:
I'm sorry you're too weak of will and stomach to have journeyed with me on this glorious bender of mine. Shame on you for believing me to be something I never was; a fine upstanding citizen I am not, nor will I ever aspire to be. I'm also sorry I never got the chance to take naked smut pics of you during our time again. Oh well, maybe next time. Enjoy the herpes.
To Mac the bartender:
I'm sorry for not tipping you as well at the end of my bender than when I was at the beginning, but I'm sure you understand. You stood by me through thick and thin and was my constant moral reminder when I got a little bit too out of control. You're a good man, you Irish cunt, and you kept the booze on a steady pour. For that, I thank you.
Oh yeah, and I'm sorry I took a shit in the women's bathroom sink. If you haven't found out by now, yes, that was me.
To my liver:
As much as I despise you, right now I accept any and all forms of pain you want to inflict on me. I tried drowning you in Vodka, flooding your defenses with Vicodin, and even giving you a kick in the balls with some booger sugar, but through it all, Al K's faithful liver survived the onslaught. You're a tough little bastard, my friend, and I look forward to the day when we shall cross swords again.
And last but not least, to all the fans of Bloody Crackdown out there:
I'm sorry for not taking pictures of me shatting out a steaming log of scat into the wash sink of the women's bathroom at the bar I frequent. I know how you degenerates love to see BC employee's at our lowest and most depraved. Maybe next time, eh?
My Liver, My Enemy
I need to start this off with a public apology.
To all those whose lives I've touched or came across these past three brutally long days, I'm sorry.
I'm sorry, if not for the fact I have no recollection of what I've done, but for the things I'll probably wind up doing again this weekend. You see, as I write these words and do my best to control the spastic shaking in my hands due to acute alcohol poisoning, it's starting to sink in. Yes, indeed, Al ol' boy, you've been awake for about 37 hours now. 37 hours, with 98f that time drinking heavily, smoking pack after pack of Marlboro Reds, line after line of Colombia's finest import sliding down my nasal passages into my brain, and all in the name of glorious debauchery.
For you see, I'm coming off the ass end of a 3 day bender, but as I sit here trying to justify why exactly I've pushed myself to the heights of self-destruction, I can no longer lie to myself or make it appear glamorous. No, folks, these past few days imbibing all manner of poisons weren't in celebration of someone's honor or demise. No victorious event was celebrated and extolled by myself and the others. Nope, none of these things. Because simply put, as self-loathing starts to take up permanent residence inside my gut and regret comes knocking on my door, I realize this bender is the result of one simple reason:
I can't say no.
No matter how much I tell myself when I awake in the morning, "Albert. Now listen to me. This is your liver and brain speaking on behalf of your soul. Just stop...for ONE night, for God's sake, just stop poisoning yourself. Learn some self-control and self-respect, you stupid weak willed Irish fuck bastard cuntwhore." But again, I can't say no. Offer me a drink, and I shall consume it. Show me a pill, and I shall tell you to pop it into my mouth. Cut up some lines of Devil Powder, and I'll roll up the 50 dollar bill. It's a vicious and ugly cycle, most likely destined for me to wake up in some wastelined gutter, clutching desperately at an empty bottle of Thunderbird wine, the words "Bloody Crackdown" on my lips, and addiction consuming my mind. But for now, I'm enjoying myself, and could give two fucks less what anybody thinks. In an effort to cleanse my soul of the things I have done these past three days, I'm making a public apology to the following people:
To my now and most recent ex-girlfriend:
I'm sorry you're too weak of will and stomach to have journeyed with me on this glorious bender of mine. Shame on you for believing me to be something I never was; a fine upstanding citizen I am not, nor will I ever aspire to be. I'm also sorry I never got the chance to take naked smut pics of you during our time again. Oh well, maybe next time. Enjoy the herpes.
To Mac the bartender:
I'm sorry for not tipping you as well at the end of my bender than when I was at the beginning, but I'm sure you understand. You stood by me through thick and thin and was my constant moral reminder when I got a little bit too out of control. You're a good man, you Irish cunt, and you kept the booze on a steady pour. For that, I thank you.
Oh yeah, and I'm sorry I took a shit in the women's bathroom sink. If you haven't found out by now, yes, that was me.
To my liver:
As much as I despise you, right now I accept any and all forms of pain you want to inflict on me. I tried drowning you in Vodka, flooding your defenses with Vicodin, and even giving you a kick in the balls with some booger sugar, but through it all, Al K's faithful liver survived the onslaught. You're a tough little bastard, my friend, and I look forward to the day when we shall cross swords again.
And last but not least, to all the fans of Bloody Crackdown out there:
I'm sorry for not taking pictures of me shatting out a steaming log of scat into the wash sink of the women's bathroom at the bar I frequent. I know how you degenerates love to see BC employee's at our lowest and most depraved. Maybe next time, eh?
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