How Not to get Drunk

[Bob Clay]

I’d decided to do it via a drunk, I mean a real drunk,  not one of those one nighters where you go into a bar and entertain people for a couple of hours then knock a table of drinks over, vomit on someone's new cocktail dress and get escorted out by two by now ex-friends to be dumped on a park bench in preparation for the morning wake up to find you've been  deboned and filleted  by the hangover demon, no no.

I mean a proper drunk whereby you go home and stack your booze to the ceiling, lock the door then sit in a comfortable chair so as to drink yourself into a deep dark  black hole of despair knowing  next day you'll wake up in the morgue ... well not so much wake up in the morgue, but you will be there.

I'd just prepared the first drink when there came a knock at the door, I answered it to find two Jehovah's Witnesses who looked like a male and female version of Groucho Marx but before they could start their spiel I explained to them that I had an old 10 gauge shotgun inside that would turn their entire chest cavities, complete with bones and organs  into some sort of red mush that looked like it had been in a blender for ten minutes and that they should go elsewhere, which they did.

I sat down to start the drink when the phone rang and a guy in India started to tell me that my computer had been sending signals to Microsoft about its problems but before he could proceed I went all Liam Neeson on him and told him I would find him, where-ever he was, and then I would  boil his children,  flay his wife and drop all his remaining relatives into a giant tank full of ravenous piranhas and that was just for starters so he needed to put the phone down ... which he did.

I picked up the drink but would you believe it there came yet another knock on the door and this time it was a small guy in a CIA suit and Woody Allen glasses who told that his encyclopaedias  would broaden my horizons and enhance my life so I explained to him that unless he wanted the sum total of human knowledge, i.e. 32 volumes of encyclopaedic scribblings,  shoved up  into a dark place somewhere above his lower bowel he should go forth and multiply in short jerky movements, so he went.

I sat down again and was about to take the first sip when the lad upstairs started in on his girlfriend on a bed with a squeaky spring that made more noise than her cries of pleasure ... I have to say that was one happy fucking spring by the sound of it ... and so I gave up my drunk, shit ... what with religion, computer scams, the sum total of human knowledge and downright no-nonsense orgasmic pleasure for both animate and in-animate objects maybe life wasn't so bad after all, in fact to borrow a line from a film 'it's all so fucking hilarious' ... so for now I've put the drunk on hold.

[Abhi Kantamneni]

Heh, progressively moving down the Maslow's Pyramid of Human needs, you paid no heed to the sense of higher purpose that religion is purported to give you you finally gave in to the basest of human/animal need :- sex. Funny Six!!

[Brenda Kelsch]

And there is my argument for not living in town!  LOL...I am having some chianti however no fava beans at the moment...and i have had no interruptions from Jehova's witnesses or any other interruptions.  It's quite delightful.  I enjoyed this...thank you!

[Angela]

Glad you stayed sober, no matter the reason.  Funny six.

[Robert Crisman]

Evidently a real drunk mandates epic thoughts. Love it.

[Sandra Davies]

Hard to choose a favourite, but 'a dark place somewhere above his lower bowel he should go forth and multiply in short jerky movements' has to be up there ... hugely entertaining views once more from you, Bob.

[Teresa]

Life really isn't so bad.  It gets funnier all the time.  Is funnier a word?  "I would boil his children" made me laugh out loud.  Here's a toast to laughing at the absurdities, which would never fit into those 32 volumes of scribblings.