Skip to main content

pour me another

If you get to know me, at some point you are going to see me behaving as a drunken maniac... and I don't care.

I like being drunk and crazy.  That shit is just fun.  I know, I know its far from my usual intellectual rationality but that's probably why I like it.

I tend to spend a lot of time in my head contemplating the universe but when I'm drinking, I apply those powers of analysis to whats in front of me.  It doesn't matter if I'm watching Purple Rain or watching drunk white girls get down on the dance floor.  My attention goes to whatever is presented to me.  I, being a braniac, tend to over analyze the new stimuli.  When you're drunk its like experiencing everything for the first time and just like a little kid, I like to talk about it.

I don't talk very much on a day to day basis but after a few Cuervo shots (my favorite) I cant wait to discuss.  Race, politics, religion, there isn't anything sacred to a philosopher with a beer in his hand.  One of the few things I don't talk about when I'm drunk is myself.  I tend to hate people that go on about themselves are lame.  Besides, you'll get to know me if you feed me enough margaritas anyway.

You always get to know people better when they are having fun and I'm one of those people that loves to party under the influence.  As far as bloggers go, you'd be hard pressed to find a bigger dancer than me.  I don't over do it, I'm no sorority girl, but I do know how to get down.  Liquor helps people reconnect with their bodies and I'm not ashamed of mine in the first place.  I'll bust out the robot, the roger rabbit or whatever comes to mind.  I don't care, that shit is fun when you're drunk.

I don't even care about making an ass of myself.  People get drunk and act a fool then feel bad in the morning but I say, acting a complete fool is what freedom is about.  There's a freedom in being away from what people expect of you, you get that when you're drunk.

Most of the stories about me being drunk that I hear are all fun loving.  I don't get drunk and get emotional or beat up anybody.  I just want to pass out or get laid and pass out.  Aren't those fun goals to have on a Friday night? 

Don't judge me because I know how to get down.  I want you get down too.  When you see your boy out in public, smile and come over.  Let's philosophise about the world in a post Obama era and have a contest over who can do the best robot and enjoy life as drunken psychopaths.

Comments

Post a Comment

Got comments? Let it out. I always do.

Popular posts from this blog

There's gold in them thar crates

Right now I’m listening to Camp Lo’s Uptown Saturday Night.   I don’t know how much play this album got around the nation when it dropped in 1997, but it didn’t get any love in Kansas City, but If you haven’t heard, it is the shit! I don’t know when it became the general consensus that rap music that didn’t come out in the last 6 months isn’t good but we have to remember hip-hop’s history of being the product of people that were willing to dig in those crates. Bargain bins at the used CD store, garage sales and amazon.com all have great CDs that you never heard.   Not to mention all of those CDs with 2 or 3 great songs on them. My point is that great music doesn’t have a shelf life.   Just because Kanye and Jay-Z keep coming out with hits doesn’t mean Reasonable Doubt and The College Dropout aren’t great CDs.   It’s just the opposite.   There has been a long time since somebody referred to a rap album that is universally referred to as a classic.   Think about it.   There have
1 comment
Read more
Maury must be stopped. No one has profited more from Black people being ignorant than he.   I know the old saying: “Mama’s baby, Papa’s maybe.” But, contrary to popular belief, Black men love their children.   Everyone loves children.   Even if Black men realize that they aren’t bringing much to a household, they know that there is magic there.   That magic might be scary, like all magic, but it’s there.   There isn’t much difference between the love that develops between a man and a child with his D.N.A.   and a man that a child that he has raised. I am my father’s son.   No, I’m not light skinned or a hustler, but I laugh when I hear something funny.   I’ll sit on a porch and dink liquor all Saturday morning.   My toes are extraordinarily long (just like his).   I will see a beautiful woman and take notice just because I am a man and that’s what a man does.   My dad raised me well. When you see a Black man on Maury, you know he is going to be running from the responsibil
2 comments
Read more

R.I.P. Rusty Hayes

Pretty soon here I’m going to say goodbye to my dad.   I suppose that I already have.   When I walked into the place where he lived and saw him there, dead, with his mouth cocked open in a very strange angle, I realized that I had been saying goodbye to my dad for some time now.   That body that laid there in the nursing home did not resonate my father at all. You see, my dad was a big guy.   Always was to me.   That body there was emaciated and small; so much not the powerful figure that I remember. When I was younger, I remember how much I wanted to grow up to look like my dad.   He was muscular, handsome and light skinned and I was anything but (I still have beef with every negro that got blessed with being light skinned in the ‘90s).   The best thing about my dad, though, is that he had a serious thirst for life.   He always laughed so hard that you had to turn around and wonder what the fuck was going on over there that was so damned funny.   When I was young, I couldn’t
1 comment
Read more