CLUBLIFE: We're the worst

[ddm-news]

"Look at that motherfucker standing up there..."




"So smug...thinks he's so safe..."




"Somebody needs to take him out."





We met, and decided it had to be done.





You know, I get email comments all the time from readers who say they'd like to meet me, and it's quite flattering, really. Happens just about every day, and it feels good. Rewarding. Truth be told, it makes doing all this worthwhile to know it means that much to somebody.




After this weekend, though, I have no idea why anyone in their right mind would ever voluntarily choose to make my acquaintance in any situation involving the consumption of alcohol. See, you don't know. You don't know how we are. How we get. The things we do. Add "Clint" to the mix, and it's over, and your event ends in disaster because you've invited nothing but trouble.




I keep telling people, on this blog, that I'm not an asshole. There's a reason for that. I am an asshole. Deny, deny, deny, and maybe you'll get the wool pulled over everyone's eyes. That's been my plan from the start, but, to quote Neal Stephenson, get a few drinks in me and the "Imp of the Perverse" takes the reins and it's over for everyone's good time.




So, lots of blood and cuts and bruises later, you've got my weekend. I'd apologize, and so would "Clint," but we're not yet certain of what, exactly, we did. Or even if it was all that bad. But we're trash when we drink, and we know that. You can cultivate as many book deals and Ponzi schemes as nature will allow, but when it comes down to it, you can't get away from the trailer park once the Johnnie Black starts flowing.




And so, finally, you end up with two brainless fucknut idiots, slapping and choking and punching, wandering the streets to God-knows-where, because, you know, we're spoiling for a fight and can't stop drinking, and we don't even know where the fuck we went until finding the receipt the next morning. Tacit collusion. Of course the night couldn't end once we all got back to the hotel. No. It wasn't something one needed to say to the other, but was anyone surprised that nobody chose to join us?




Two peas in an asshole pod. As ever, as always.

Link To Original Article