A month without alcohol

Haven’t posted anything like this for a while so here goes

Morning Pains
Wake up, noon. I’m at home, in bed, naked. Alone? Ye. The whole house is empty and silent. I fumble around for last nights boxers, find them in a wrinkled heap by the bed. A quick sniff before I put them on, nearly clean, they’ll do for now. Stumble to the remote and turn on the TV. I’m standing in the living room practically naked and trying to wake up. Scratch my chest, pat my stomach lean back and think about stretching. Don’t, I don’t really want to get up. The hairs on my legs stand, the living room seems chilly compared to the hot box I slept in. My bedroom window faces the sun as it rises so I fall asleep shivering and wake up in a pool of sweat. I rub my eyes with both hands and then push my left hand through my hair, give it a sniff-grease, dirt and sea salt. This is no way to start the day so I stagger back into the bedroom and fall face flat back to sleep. I’ll start over in a little while, maybe have a toss.
Half one, my boxers are strangling my nutsack. A quick reminder of why I never sleep with clothes on. Old boxers on the verge of being too small, a raised leg and a massive hard-on do not a happy sack make. Remember that next time. Idiot. Stupid lazy idiot child. I roll onto my back. Straighten, stretch and flex my legs-it feels good, I assess the power in my thighs. Good. Strong. I straighten my boxers, freeing the twins.
I gently manoeuvre my cock out of my boxers before sitting up on the side of the bed. My dick flops against my chest. I look at it with a certain amount of pride. He’s big today. I wish someone was here to see. Especially the pretty young thing that all that blood and all those muscles are dedicated to. Actually, no, I prefer it this way because…….never mind……aach I’m not bothered.
Stand. A little shaky on my feet falling forwards overcompensating and falling back onto the bed where I started. Try again. No problem this time. Drag a towel down from the door and walk down the hall to the shower. I can feel my impressive boner slowly going limp so I try to think of her, her tits, her legs, her femininity the way she moved and all the things she’d only ever done in my dreams. I slow the decline but I can’t concentrate so I just let it fall. Too tired to fantasize whilst standing up-not a good way to start the day at all.
I pull back the glass door and turn on the shower, looking at myself in the mirror while I wait for the water to heat up. Could do with a shave, maybe stand to lose some weight but at least the hair is good. The water has warmed up so I step in. I face the showerhead and close my eyes while the water wraps itself around my face and flows off my chin as if it were a hose. In that moment I ask myself when I got so lazy, so vain and so utterly passive. My answer is interrupted by the phone ringing. Fuck off, I just got into the shower, its probably not even for me. Close your eyes again. I wanna go back to sleep so I crawl back into my dreams from where I left off. Clicking through my mental menu as to who I wanna fuck and what championship I want to win whilst wrestling with the obvious question of which Nobel prize I am most likely to receive(Peace or literature?). If only they had a nobel prize for enjoying a drink, being unemployed or living with your parents. Now there’s an idea, but I probably wouldn’t win any of them either-its all politics.
Still thinking about the nobel prize and how I can stop working after I win it, I get out of the shower and rub myself down. Carefully, I wrap the towel around myself so as not to cause any chafage on the tip of my now tiny floppy dick. It works when I stand still but not when I start to walk up the hall. Forget the towel, I’m nearly dry, I’ll walk in the nip, nobody will see and even if they do-fuckem! I don’t care. Go to my room, turn on some music. Get dressed. Have breakfast. Start trying to fill the day.

I have a flickr account but no friends, join me at
http://www.flickr.com/photos/9288224@N02/
Or I’ll eat your soul

I posted this on someone elses page and decided that it was to good for them to take the credit so now I’m putting it here-how d’ya like dat!

‘Well my dear, I belive we are kindred spirits but on the opposite side of the same tunnell. I am 19. I am already perpetually hungover and I when I woke up this morning everything tasted like weed. I don’t have a single favourite drink because there are so many great drinks for so many different occasions so heres a list.

1. As a standard, a good pint of blackest Guinness in a tiny pub in the middle of nowhere will make you cry, so moved you’ll be by its beauty.
2. 4 o’clock in the morning when you’re too drunk and stoned to stand straight-Whiskey Time! Black Bush on the rocks in a big glass, it feels good to start shouting at this point
3. Hair of the dog: Miller, clean crisp and wholesome for all the family
4. Clubing? Liquid Cocaine! The ultimate suicide shot: 1 part tequila, 1 part golshlagger and one part sambuka. Repeat this 5 or six times in quick succession and you can make people drunk just by standing next to them
5. House parties: its a classic, unique to Dublins financially impaired student class(or underage people who think their tough)-Dutch Gold! Oh Dutchy you are so good to me

I hope this helps in your quest for alcoholism, its certainly worked for me’

my lifes work summed up in a few short points-brings a tear to ones eye

The man, the pie and the snake

I walked up to a man with a snake for an eye and said hi
I asked the man with a snake for an eye if he would like some pie
to which he did kindly reply, of course he’d like some pie

My my my said he to I
(thats the man with a snake for an eye)
what a nice piece of pie

If ever you were to die I would surely cry
for there would be no more of that pie, for me and my eye
Surely, says I, a pie’s a pie can be made by any guy

So stop yer bad rhymin’an’missuse of comic timin’ an’gimme
2 euro fifty before I batter ya within an inch of your life-fuckin’ponce!

Heart of Gold

Corruptably Innocent,
User friendly,
Notoriousely
Time consuming

Rinne mé líne cóca nuair a raibh mé seacht mblianna déag daois-bhí sé cac. B’fhearr liom fuisce le mo bhricfeasta ná an cac diabhail stuiff sin a thrial arís(dá le an scéal, bhí fuisce agam le mo bhric feasta uair amháin agus bhí sé lofa). Nís mó ná aon druga eile aithríonn cóca daoine. Aithríonn sé cairde isteach i namhaide.
Ná bí buartha faoi an leathnach seo ag athrú isteach i saghas ‘anti-drugs homepage’ áfach mar tá aláinn drugaí iontach amach ansin. Díreach ba fuadh liom an púidear mairfeach. Tá an stuiff ag titim ón spéir mar sneachta anseo i mBÁC faoi láithir agus táim tinn dó. Cén fáth a íochainn daoine suas le nócha euro ar rud a bainnean maitheas an ól díot? Dáríre, chuireann cóca stop tobann le do meisciúleacht! Níl aon gá dó. An taon rud a dhénann sé ná go mothaíonn tú i bhfad níos sásta ar feadh uair nó dhó-woo hoo, níl cairde inán é sin a dhénamh. Chuireann sé daoine ag caint freisin, ach ag rá faic(d’fhéadfá a rá go bhfuil an éifeacht céanna ag an ól is dóigh). An rud ba mheasa faoi, áfach, ná go gcuireann sé daoine ag troid. Go háirithe, daoine mar mise.
Rinne mé líne amháin agus bhí mé ag iarradh gach adhaigh sa seomra a bhriseadh. Dhá líne agus bhíos i mo sheasamh-níl sé sin go maith. Níl a fhios am céard a tharlódh má thóg mé an triú. Níor chodail mé an oíche sin nó an lá ina dhiadh. Bhíos ró-feargach smaoineamh fiú.
Ó thoabh drugaí eile de, bhueil, sin scéal eile. Is aoibheann liom Salvia. Tá sé go hiontach(smiontach fiú). Drug dleathach é a thógtar ar nós toitín draíochta tríd ‘bong-uisce’. Tá sé go han láidir ar fad ach díreach mhaireann sé ar feadh tuairim is cúig nóiméad déag. Tá éifeacht aige a bhfuil beagáinín ar nós acid, feiceann tú rudaí nach bhuil ann. ‘Hallucinagenic’ atá ann. Is féidir leat do samhlaíocht a oscailt i bhealach an speisialta ar fad agus, más mian leat, an domhain seo a fágáil go hiomlán ar feadh taimeallín beag.

An druga ab fhear riamh roimhe agus go deo ina dhiadh, fós, ná an pionta simplí dubh is blasta. Dénann sé damáiste do do chorp agus do inchinn ach níl sé leath chomh crua ar an aigne le raithneach nó salvia(a bhfuil sách dáinséarach do chuid tuiscint) nó cóca. Ionomarca de aon rud áfach agus ní bheidh ionat ach scath, cibé druga a phiocann tú

A perfectly normal sentence repeated in almost every language around the world at some point: ‘Its mid June, lets have a Barbeque.’
In most countries the uniform answer is ‘why certainly my good man, I’ll get some burgers’
In Ireland, the answer is invariably ‘I wouldn’t use an umbrella bud, I think I heard some thunder’

I wish I had a car or the rain would stop. I should at least move to a country where you don’t spend your entire summer living in hope or find yourself stripping down to nought at the first faintest ray of sunlight.

Táim tuirseach cantalach uaigneach agus go hiomláin gafa ag leisciúleacht den scoth. An saghas leisciúlacht(nach féidir leat a litriú i gcearrt) a chuireann stop le do shaol sóisialta fiú.
Bhueil, níl sé sin fíor. Bhí seachtain fada agam, ró-fhada do fear gan phost nó cailín(fós). Thosaigh an seachtain seo, ar nós gach seachtain eile, ar an Domhnach. D’imir mé chluiche peil(sacair!) le scata de mo chuid chairde. Mar is gná, bhí cúpla de na lads as láithir agus mar sin cluiche 9 in adhaigh a 9 a bhí ann. Le mise mar captaen bhí cluiche crua os ár gcomhar-agus caill muid! Tarraing mé mo ‘hamstring’ tar éis tuarim is fiche nóiméad ach throid mé tríd an bpiann chuig deara an gcluiche-ní raibh sé sin ró-chliste.
Os rud é gur ghortaigh mé mo chos ní rabhas inán siúil i gcearrt go dtí an Céadaoin. Bhí sé sin uafásach ach go háirithe mar bhí orm ghuitar a iompar isteach chuig sráid Leeson ar an Máirt i gcóir éistiúcháin. Éistiúcháin le TG4 i gcóir seó nó rud eicint a mbeidh a dhénamh acu. Bhí orm píosa don scriopta a léamh agus bhí mé go hainnis. Bhíos comh nádúrtha ag léamh le bó ag tiomáint-bhí sé náireach cé comh donna is a bhí sé. Ní gheobhaigh mé an pháirt ach is cuma.
I ndiadh sin bheartaigh mé siúil chuig teach mo dhearthar i Harolds Cross. Le cos amháin, guitar trom agus scammall mór gruamach mar compánach a shiúil mé, dar ndóigh bhíos beagnach marbh nuair a shroich mé an teach. Bhí seisean beagnach marbh nuair a theip air an doras a oscailt don chéad uair, an dara uair, AN TRIÚ UAIR fiú! Buíochas le dia gur oscail sé an doras ar dearadh agus nuair a bhfaca mé an cruth a bhí air thuig mé laithreach cén fáth go raibh an méad sin moille air. Bhí na súile dubh aige, leath bhealach idir an domhain seo agus domhain dorcha scainriúl an ól. Níor fhan mé i bhfad mar bhí sé soléir go raibh codladh ag teastáil ón fear bocht. Thug mé an guitar dó agus chas mé ar ais ar mo bhóithir féintruaithe.
Ní raibh aon suim agam dul abhaile, má rinne mé sin bheidh an lá críochnaithe roimh meanlae. Siúil mé thuas chuig sráid Grafton agus cheannaigh mé leabhair(Bob Evans ‘The Kid Stays in the Picture’). Meas mór do Bob Evans, baistird cearrt! Fíor fionnscéal é, den sean-nós. Siúil mé isteach i gcoláiste na trinóide, os rud é go bhfuil DIT dúnta, agus léigh mé turaim is seachtó leathainnigh. Thaitin sé sin liom. Buail mé le chara liom agus chaith muid frisbie thart ar feadh tamaill ansin bhí deoch agam agus d’fhill mé abhaile ag timpeall a seacht. Bhí fearg orm fós faoin éistiúcháin.
Ach bhí sé cearrt go leor mar an oíche i ndiadh-buail mé le aingil! B’fhéidir go raibh tionchar ag na trí cannaí, an jagerbomb, an sambuka, an tequila agus an golshlagger(ar fad faoi leathuair-ceapaim) ach i mo shúile caol, ólta, leathoiscailte bí an chailín ab áille a riamh bhfaca mé. Bheartaigh orm í a mhealladh nuair a raibh cruth níos fearr orm(ie: nuair a tháinig mo chuid ‘motorskills’ air ais’). Bhueil ní raibh orm fanacht i bhfad, d’fhág sí teachtaireacht ar mo suíomh bebo an maidin dar gcionn roimh a dhúisigh mé fiú-Result! Ón méad a thuigim, tá sí cairdiúl le cara liom agus bhí muid ag caint ar feadh tamaill fada an oíche roimhe(!?). Anois, sé breithlá an cara sin ag deara an seachtain seo chugainn agus dar ndóigh beidh mo aingil ann-sin comhartha naofa má riamh chuala mé ceann!
Bhíos i bpíosaí an lá ar fad ar an Deardaoin i ndiadh a méad a bhí ólta agam, mar a bheadh éinne is dóigh. Mar is eol duit féin, níl ach laghas amháin ar tinneas ól-nís mó a ól! Agus sin é díreach cad a rinne mé! D’imigh mise agus sé cannaí ór chuig teach mo chara. Gná oíche a bhí ann, craic ceol agus SSX ar an bplaystation. Ghná oíche, sea, go dtí a thug mé cic mór do roth car ar an slí abhaile agus beag nár bhris mé mo chos! Bhí x-gháthú agam ar an Aoine agus d’imir mé peil ar an Domhnach. Glaotar ‘hardcore’ nó ‘tick’ ar sin, breathan sé cén sórt duine thú.
Tá a fhios agam gur dearadh sách tapaí é sin ar mo scéal beag ach tá tuirseach an domhain orm agus tá fonn orm dul a chodladh roimh a thitim a chodladh