Twice Forever

I heard a band playing some rock inside, I looked up at the sign, it said: “The Next Whisky Bar”
I never noticed that there was a previous one. I took a look inside through the window, they served all kinds of alcohol. I went in.

The place was packed.

As I entered, I had to get across a line of stools on which people were sitting, facing the bar shelves. It was too narrow that I had to pass between them and the bar. It was like getting to your seat at the movies. To do that, you either had to give them the crotch or the ass. I gave them the crotch, and made eye contact while passing by.

I finally found an empty stool and I sat down. The bartender gave me the menu. Hungry, I ordered a sandwich and a beer. And checked my watch.

It took forever for the food to come, so I ordered a second beer as I waited.

The cellphone of the guy sitting next to me started ringing, it said: “My Queen”. Damn! Why nickname your partner the highest title of a female monarch given to her just by virtue of birth?

If I had a partner, I’d call her “Proletariat”. At least I would believe in her future.

Dinner is served!
I looked at my watch again, fourteen minutes had passed. Forever is fourteen minutes long.
When I was eating, a girl replaced the self-proclaimed king sitting next to me. That I did notice. Also her behind.

Damn! She could use those twin Jupiters to take an escalator on her way to success. Those things could get her past the education system, capitalism and Gandalf. That thing could teleport. She can pass the Israel-Lebanon border back and forth, no problem!

Having enough alcohol in me and two full packs of cigarettes I asked her if I could buy her a drink. Yeah, you guessed it, she said yes!

But you can’t have it all, can you?

After some small talk, she said she liked books, self-help books, that she was an environmentalist and practiced yoga daily.

Let me rephrase that for you.
She called them books, those things that you read to feed your impudent rotting ego rooted in self-centered ignorance, self-help books.

Another beer.

What a fart ! What a piece of boneless shit!

These people are worse than that shit piece of split at the fingernail fold that you have to peel your whole hand off to get rid of it.

Another beer.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph Stalin.

I just wished she knew that that yoga mat she takes idiot poses on will eventually end up in the ocean as a tombstone for a dolphin or something.

Another beer.

She had those round glasses, that make you look smart. Well, she put the word smart in: “These people are the new plague.”

I was one tequila shot away from stealing a job.

Eventually, she felt that I was staring into my own reflection in the mirror at the back of the bar, that I stopped listening to her plans of making the world a better place.

She asked me what’s wrong. I was thinking of hanging myself. Then I thought, nah, hanging from a noose is like a bad puppet show.

I told her that my favorite book was Playboy which she should definitely be in and consider a career.

The look on her face was like a scene of the Red Army marching into Berlin. Priceless !

She got up and left.

By then, I had too much to drink. I went to the toilet.

I like the toilets at bars. They are built like it’s known that some people will be too shitfaced to stand still and take a piss, so they’re made really small, in a way that you can lean on any wall and still hit the toilet. Genius!

I looked at my watch, it wasn’t there, instead there was a bottle of beer in my hand. I looked at my other wrist, it said 2:00 am

As I added to the water in the seat, I heard the music growing louder and louder.

“The boys are drinking
And the girls are dancing
And the people are moving away
Times are changing and the winds are blowing
And the people are moving away..”

I felt the ceiling zoom in on me and my head rock back and forth.

I put my hand on the wall, listened to the music, took a huge gulp of beer and kept pissing.

I heard a knock on the door and someone shouted: “Hey man ! There’s a line here! You’ve been in there forever!”

I looked at my watch, and it was 2:14 am..

The End

The Alcoholic

I’d hate myself, but that would lead to a depression that would lead to a willingness to end my life, and that shouldn’t be, cause if that happens I can’t drink anymore. Who am I kidding? I loathe myself.

I walk down the road knowing that I shouldn’t have another drink, but the only thing I wanna do is have another drink. I want to chug it. I want it to hit my brain so hard and make me forget I actually have one.

I go into the shop and buy my poison. It’s usually the type that gets me drunk as fast as possible. I pay and step out of the shop to drink it as soon as I can. This is my goal right now: getting even more intoxicated. It makes me feel “free”.

I know I shouldn’t. I want to anyway. The fact that I shouldn’t makes me want to do it even more. I drink large chugs of it, and feel my body resist. I feel the need to throw up. I fight it. I swallow it all, and force it down with determination. What a fucking overachiever. Judge me as much as you can, I’ve passed the verdict a long time ago.

Guilty as charged: first degree alcoholic, someone who would go to inexplicable lengths to have their next fix of vodka, tequila, rum, or whatever, anything, fucking anything. Wine would even do, at least immense amounts of it, but it would do… something to shut this voice up.

Am I monster? I probably am. I become one every single time I black out. Each time there’s that lack of self-control it’s a fucking blessing and the biggest curse. It’s a blessing because you can finally let out all those things that you had to keep in, it’s a curse cause…need I explain that part?

I hate myself today. I hated myself yesterday, and I knew it was cause of all the anxiety and distress from drinking. The hangover is full of uncontrollable emotions. Sometimes it gives you the deepest sadness you could experience for nothing. And that is what I loved and hated the most: experiencing something profound and exhilarating for no reason what-so-fucking-ever. What a fucking poet.

I tell myself time and time again that I’m gonna quit. After so many stupid fights, arguments, embarrassments, humiliations, one would think that quitting would become inevitable. One could never be more wrong.

There is no way to understand the mind of the hopeless alcoholic unless you are or were one yourself. And if you are, no one could ever possibly envy you. You’re on your own. It’s one of the most isolating and loneliest experiences. God help you. In any case, after enough drinks, God either doesn’t exist, or he’s your only friend.