ABSENT MINDED THOUGHTS

BEWARE OF THE DOG!

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.

BEWARE OF THE DOG!

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

posted by Mrite @ 5:33 PM