Thursday, April 27, 2006


I’ve been sober 5 years now and I feel a whole lot better than I ever have in my life. I don’t wake up with hangovers or the shakes anymore. I don’t feel like I have to have a drink to have a good time anymore, I just plain feel a whole lot better.

That being said (like most alkies), I have a whole backlog of drunk stories (both good and bad) that insinuate themselves into my consciousness from time to time…This is one of those times.
I started drinking when I was a teenager, and the first thing I ever got drunk off of was (you guessed it) “M. D. 20/20,” better known on the street as “MAD DOG.” Anybody that has ever had any dealings with that shit, knows why it’s called “MAD DOG.”

I had my first taste of the vile concoction in an alley behind my house. Me, my best friend David, and (another running buddy)Rhett. We were too young to buy alcohol on our own (I was 13), so someone would generally go in a store and lift a bottle. This task usually fell to David, since he was the criminal mastermind of our budding juvenile crime syndicate. Don’t get me wrong, we weren’t the worst kids in the neighborhood, but weren’t no angels either. Hell, half the people I grew up with are either dead or in prison. Of the three of us only one’s no longer with us (David), and none of us ever went to prison. We were just typical wild-ass kids.

I remember that first taste…I damn near puked! I’ll always remember Rhett’s advice… “You gotta make a face when you drink it…Like this.” Rhett grimaced and made a face that sorta looked like he was taking a shit. So, the next time the bottle came around…I did the same. Ridiculous as it may sound now, it damn sure worked then. In fact after the bottle was passed around a few more times, I don’t think I even had to make a face anymore. Of course, I don’t remember much more than the beginning of that escapade…It being so long ago.

That was the beginning of short teenage love affair with cheap wine. A boy and his dog. But, (as with most teenage love affairs) it was short lived. By the time I was 16, I had gotten too familiar with the “DOG,” and it turned on me. It finally bit me in the ass.

Me and another buddy (Jay), were going to see Aerosmith. We wanted to get good and tanked before we went, but didn’t have a whole lot of money left after buying our tickets. We did have a couple of joints (yup, used to do that to), but that wasn’t enough. Nope, I could hear the “DOG” scratching at the door, wanting to get in.

I was big for my age, so I didn’t have to lift a bottle by this time. Nope, I walked right into the liquor store and bought it. Times were different then, drinking age was 18, and I was only a year and some months from being there. Shit, I was so cocky…I bought 2 fifths of the stuff, along with a big bottle of Sprite. Why the Sprite? Cause Jay was a pussy, he couldn’t drink the shit and make face. Hell no, he had to mix it with Sprite.

Well, things were rolling along pretty good. I was chugging on the “MAD DOG” straight, Jay was mixing his pussy drinks and we were just having a good old time. We finished the one bottle and commenced to work on the next one. We had fired up one of those joints and (of course) soon got the munchies. The ONLY thing in the friggin house that (for some odd reason) appealed to our drug and alcohol addled minds was…Barbeque Fritos and bean dip. [Let me interject right here…I only ate stupid shit like that when I was stoned, in a normal state I would never touch shit like that]. So eat, drink, and smoke we did.

Now things begin to change. I should have taken heed of the ominous turn of events, but I was already riding the “PURPLE DOG.” I was oblivious to anything that may lay before me.
The change was initiated when I got up to take a leak. When I got back, I discovered that Jay (the pussy) had poured the remainder of the “MAD DOG” into the remainder of the big bottle of Sprite. Damn, damn, damn! I couldn’t un-mix the shit, so I continued to drink. All the while I was calling Jay a pussy for ruining my precious “MAD DOG,” I continued to drink, and (unwisely) eat the damn Barbecue Frito’s, while liberally slathering them with the bean dip.

We finally made it to the concert, and (believe it or not) we still had some “MAD DOG” and Sprite left. Now even in those days, you couldn’t carry that stuff in with you. Well, you could sneak it in, but not in a 2 liter Sprite bottle. We had finished up the pot, the Barbecue Frito’s and the bean dip, but there was still a considerable amount of the “DOG” and the Sprite in the 2 liter bottle. It was like the oil in the lamp, Hanukkah miracle. I’d drink, still there. Drink, still there! Hell, Jay had given up by this time. He had more sense (still a pussy, but more sense).
I didn’t have much sense that night. I had carried on a long relationship with the “DOG!” I wasn’t gonna run out on that partnership, I was gonna see this thing through, I was gonna finish the bottle.

I stepped out of my old Dodge Charger, braced myself against the door frame and chugged! I chugged some more! Then, finally, the bottle was empty! I was victorious!
I felt rather good about my accomplishment, the only thing that bothered me…was just a little gas. No problem, nothing a good belch wouldn’t take care of. Right? Wrong!!!

It started out as a belch, but as soon as it started, it turned into something far worse. It began as a normal belch, but as it rose up in my throat, I began to get that flush feeling all in my face. That warm, sickly feeling, accompanied by my head spinning. No amount of face making would save me this time (although I did call on Jesus) as I spewed large, multicolored, chunks across the hood of the Dodge! Several concert goers who were preparing for a night of Aerosmith, were now, shrieking, running, and ducking as I spun around with my arms straight out, projectile vomiting.

The “DOG” took it’s toll on several bystanders as well, as they (sickened by the display) began to vomit also. By this time, Jay had fled the scene. He later told me he thought I was possessed, seeing as how I put Linda Blair’s character to shame that night. Honestly, I have never puked like that before or sense. If there was some kinda record for that kinda shit, I may very well have broken it that night.

That was the night that I severed all ties with the “DOG!” I continued to drink for 20 years after that, but not the “DOG!”

I offer this post (as humiliating as it may seem), as a public service.


If you don’t think it’ll bite you…check out this site.

Monday, April 24, 2006


Some mayor of a small town in the Netherlands is upset because local farmers are making some money advertising a large hotel on their sheep.

It doesn’t seem to be hurting the critters, and the farmers are getting compensated for it. So, what’s the problem? It seems that there’s a local ordinance pertaining to “roadside” signage.
Sounds a lot like what’s been going on in many communities throughout our own country. Jacksonville Florida has had a sign ordinance for sometime now. Our ordinance pertains to those little portable signs that used to be so prevalent next to the roadway in front of the multitude of strip malls that dot our landscape.

My guess is that the ordinance in the Netherlands has similar roots, namely environmentalist who (either rightly or wrongly) want an unobstructed view of the countryside as they tool along releasing harmful emissions into the ozone. Our ordinance was even stupider, because the elite seemed to think the little portable signs in front of the strip malls all over town…made the strip malls look trashy. There’s irony in there somewhere.

Anyhow, the little news story made me think about those road trips I used to make with my mom and dad when I was a kid in the 60s and 70s. My grandmother lived in Tennessee, and on the way there and back, we’d see these signs painted on barns throughout our trek through the foothills of Georgia and Tennessee, pointing the way to Lookout Mountain. Most of these are gone now, for very much the same reason that the little portable signs are gone from in front of the strip malls.

Saturday, April 22, 2006


This world is full of oddballs, so this story doesn’t surprise me. I just can’t understand how someone could be comfortable working this way.
I’m not a prude. I’m not ashamed of my body, but we wear clothes for a reason. Working, is not a reason to get naked. When I used to drink, I had no problem getting naked. However, even then there were limits. The situation may not have screamed for nudity, but there was some kind of rhyme or reason. Possibly one of those parties where everybody ends up naked in the swimming pool, or lake, or ocean. Hell, I’ve even been naked in somebody else’s living room, but they were usually naked as well (or getting there).
As a side note, I took the music embed out of the page. It appears that the latest atomic update (IE), was giving me problems accessing the page. That’s probably good news for those who don’t like Skynyrd (the music I had embedded).

Tuesday, April 18, 2006


...For awhile anyway.

I don't contribute to this blog as much as I do my Xanga (Yes I'm 44 and I have a friggin Xanga). Actually, that place gets kind of a bad rep with all the undisciplined little shits running about the place, doin God knows what. However, there are some good people on there. People who have a knack for writing that the Good Lord didn't bless me with. I've also learned a little bit about how online communities work over there as well, without having to put up with the torrential spamming that I used to encounter here.

So, I figured I'd add a couple of links today (make the place look lived in). As soon as I figure out how to add one of those blogroll deals to this site, I'll add some more blogs to the side-bar.

Today I added my Xanga. If you go there, you may want to wait for the song to quit playing on this blog, because something else is playing over there, or you can just turn the sound down. I love music, but it's not music when it's all garbled up...that's rap, not music.

I also added Acidman to my side-bar. I'm not blowing smoke up his ass when I say this, but he was one of the first bloggers I read. Although we are both individuals, we are similar in a lot of ways. We are both from the South (God Bless Dixie), both guitar players (who aren't playing anywhere right now...cept home), both former alkies, and (for the most part) we share similar ideals and aren't afraid of expressing them.

I visit that site often, and recommend it highly. It'll make you laugh (for the most part), it'll make you mad (sometimes), it may even make you cry, but I guarantee it'll entertain you as well.

I'll add others, it's just slow going with all the cut and paste shit that I have to do right now. If you have one of those fancy site trackers and you see me linked to your site, just know that I'm a fan (not a psychotic stalker). However, if you don't like me, or you think my writing is too pathetic to be attached to your site...just drop me a line and I'll unlink you.

By the way, that's my new guitar at the top (I forgot about the assbackward way this place loads pictures). You can read about on my Xanga...I'm out