Fuckin' Fiction

I know I’ve said it before but it needs to be said again. All the education on drug and alcohol abuse I had to go through as a child, was not a deterrent. It really would have to try harder. The thing is they tell you, you’ll get brain damage. That the chemicals will physically hurt you. That they will possibly even kill you. But what they should explain about alcoholism, isn’t the blood on the brain, it isn’t the constant degradation of intelligence, the eventual collapse into Korsakoff’s syndrome, no not any of these. They should mention the constant diarrhea. From having a diet based exclusively on smoke and beer. The constant and ever flowing liquid shit. Then the blood. The first time you see the blood you think, well my poops a funny color today. And you can deny it for a while. That it’s not blood. Until one day you walk a couple miles, and your ass fills real sweaty. So you go to the bathroom, just to wipe the sweat off your ass…but it’s not sweat at all, it’s a primarily blood mixture. I’ll let you stipulate on the other ingredients.
So you’ve been smoking and drinking every day for 10 years or more, and 5 of those you have constant diarrhea which has mildly interfered with your life, and caused agitation to your inner asshole, so much the veins break and you get the occasional blood. And your walking into the liquor store, and you got the urge, for a toilet break. Normally you could deal with this, but it’s not normally. Because you accidentally took a big breath, and here comes that smokers cough. One of those, blows a bit of liquidy goodness right out your ass. As an alcoholic of 10 years or more though you have a system. You were already wearing a buffer pair of pj’s or longjohns in between your underwear and pants. So it’s just going to go down your leg, most likely no one will notice….well it depends on how much you got running down your leg. The smell might reveal yourself. So that’s when you enter the liquor store. You grab a couple of cheap bottles of wine, or a bottle of scotch. You pay the man, all the while your wondering…
does he know…that there’s shit on my leg. That actuall human feces is on me at this moment, while I’m handing him this twenty dollar bill. Does he know. Once you get your change back though, that’s something. You just fucking one. You have more alcohol, nothings really going to stop you. You don’t think about the drip down your leg anymore, you just waddle home. Happy as a clam. Knowing you won.
Until you make it home and you put the key in the door, and right at that moment, at that second, plop, it just made it in your shoe. Goddamnit. But you go to the bathroom you clean yourself thoroughly with toliet paper and soap. Then take a shower for good measure.(Probably take a poop first though). It’s over. Now crack the wine, and tommorrow is another day.