The first alcohol I had was when I was about 15. Kinda a late bloomer for what was to come. I remember my best friend showed me a couple beers he had acquired, and asked if I wanted to try it. I did. I think I drank about half of the can (I believe it was Schlitz, or some sort of swill); it was amazing. I was plastered! I don't know if it was my proclivities to such a thing or the passage of time, but I recall very little of the day other than that beer.

The first time I drank alcoholically was when I was 17. A thing had just happened, and I couldn't sleep. I was selling pints of hard alcohol to my classmates by then, and thought, "Well, I have a liquor store in my closet...a little nip will help me sleep." It did! Wonder of Wonders! Thus began my real affair with alcohol. I knew it was problem drinking, but ignored this fact and kept at it. Even in high-school, I was obsessed. I would painfully wait for the weekend.

Many baffling stories later, I present this poem to you, about my affair. It's titled "A Affair," because, well, AA. Anywho, stick this in, break it off, and let The Bone stay inside you:

A Affair

I’m in love with Alcohol.

She’s my hottie, my main squeeze.

I can have a different lover every night.

A Manhattan when I want a

city sophisticate,

a White Russian for my identity crisis,

Sex on the Beach for the exhibitionist in me.

And Coors sweating cold for the Cowboys,

Bloody Marys when I wanna ride that Red Tide.

a Hurricane for a quick fuck    up

and a Black Cow for those lonely Nebraska evenings…

Alabama Slammer for those southern sheriff nights,

fuzzy navels for my fixation

and a stiff    Tom           Collins              when

I want to reverse the roles and get fucked      up     

my     ass and a Shirley Temple when I want

to take a life but have no balls so I fuck     one     up.

She’s perfect for parties.

Champagne for a formal,

cans of Bud for the big game,

Vodka and Red Bull

for all-night raves.

And this lady, like Jesus, saves.

All the affairs I’ve had with

gin, tequila, scotch on the rocks

are forgiven on Sunday with a little bit of wine

three hail Mary’s

and Hennessy    for after the sermon

because I ain’t yet filled with the spirit.

And even 80-year-old Brandy can go all night,

can fuck me till I sleep, and when I wake she’s always there –

She never leaves me lonely.

Man, I miss meth sometimes, yo!

Yo! Man, I miss meth sometimes, yo!

Actually, not methamphetimine itself, but the total lack of responsibility that comes with lighting up a fresh glass. I remember just sitting in my chair at 409 Windom grilling wings and smoking meth. I was way too drunk and high to pull it off though, and ended up burning the food. That happened a lot, actually. See? You don't have to be responsible when smoking meth, snorting Ambien, drinking Wild Turkey and grilling out. I used to come home all the time and open the grill to get 'er ready and finding last night's "supper" there.

Why is "supper" in quotes? Simple -- I never ate anything I grilled!

I'm better now. Why this post? Well, I was jamming to Recovery by Eminem and folding the laundry and it hit me -- if only I could smoke a great big glassa meth, all this laundry would go away...but so would my wife, my kids, my education, my job...the list goes on, yo!

The bird clock is singing 3:00. Actually, it's singing 7:00 cause the batteries went out 'n' I haven't bothered to fix it. NO, I'm NOT on meth...pinkie swear!

-- The Bone