Yeah, You Got Me: Those Truths I "Poop" out of My Mouth Are Mere Justifications for My Self-Destructive Behaviors. And I Smell like an Arsonist.

A reader (and friend) takes me out to the woodshed:

Man oh man...I can still remember a night not that long ago, posturing outside the garage bay entrance of an artist's workspace party. Remember, Jas? I had been trying to lay off smokes for awhile and had been enjoying moderate success when in comes Mr. W, paperback writer extraordinaire, professing truths so thick I could have snatched them out of the air as they pooped from his mouth. "See, Mike, smoking's like drinking a double shot of whiskey. It's not something I would do all of the time." Cocking his head slightly, he pursed his lips and exhaled a punch of smoke.

Yes, I do remember. I used to justify the occasional cigarette by equating it with a shot of whiskey. A shot of whiskey isn't something you have everyday, but enjoy once in a while, when you're out with friends at a pretentious art opening filled with Wilco and Oberlin fags. It just so happens, Mike, that I'm at a point in my life when I need a shot of whiskey after a stressful day of work. Or when the bus I'm riding on has to employ the wheelchair ramp in order to haul up some fatso in a HoverRound. Or to simply muster enough energy to get out of bed. A shot of whiskey makes the evening walk home from the bus stop go by that much quicker! I find I need a shot of whiskey when the whiskey runs out, or when I get off the phone with my mom. Luckily, my little pack of trusty whiskey-shots is waiting at my elbow!

Posted by Jason at February 11, 2024 04:43 PM