Posts Tagged ‘beers’

wildturkey

Spare me the Wild Turkey, brother
I just can’t handle that shit
I go dingo’s gonad crazy and start fucking shit up
And so do a lot of other people

Wild Turkey 101 is 50.5 % alcohol
It’s fucked up man
And it fucks me up like being hit in the head with a two by four or a rubber sledge hammer
Never drink Wild Turkey with an unmedicated schizophrenic who calls himself a ‘voice hearer’
Who goes hurricane loco and smashes your guitar while shouting out- ‘Your rich dad can buy you another guitar!’
He smoked all my weed as well
A real friend was there to save the television before he broke it and stopped him from drawing all over the walls
I was too pissed to know what the fuck was going on
I think I might have popped some pills too
Then next day I woke up with the house smashed up and a pulsing, mutating headache like I had a cane-toad bouncing around inside my skull and eating my brains,
My mouth was a sandy prickly desert
I wondered what the fuck I’d done the night before
Had I even remembered to feed the guinea-pigs?
My wallet was empty but I’m sure I had a hundred and fifty bucks in it the night before
My only memories were broken images of drunkenness and depravity
And moronic drunken arguments sprinkled with paranoia
Everything else was a blank
I know I’m getting too old for this kind of ridiculous bullshit
I am not Charles Bukowski and I am not Shane MacGowan
From now on I’m sticking to beers and bongs

jacknicholson

She said,‘When he walked past me I felt a shiver down my spine. But I wasn’t sure if it was a good shiver or a bad shiver.’
She said,‘I asked him if he was a bikie. He looked like a bikie’
She said, ‘He said no’
She said, ‘Then I saw him coming out from the IGA, with beers’
She said, ‘And I said hey baby come over here’
She said, ‘And we had some drinks
She said ‘I know he’s a good man even though I’ve only known him for three hours’
She said ‘Have you got ‘dreams’ by the cranberries
She drank all the wine, and spoke too loudly
But she was like a firecracker, so full of life
I felt good for my mate, he’d met her in the psychiatric ward- the rsvp for the sanity-impaired
I wished them both well after we had gotten really stoned on two sticks
They left me a few cones
I thought to myself- I’ve got to get back to the Gigglebin, and they left

rape-is-such-a-strong-word

After work drinks while I was working as a shipping clerk
Whole office in a pub in Northbridge
Five beers
Improved social skills
Feel relaxed and engaged talking to beautiful women
Ten beers
Not so many social skills
Starting to be a bit of a dick
Starting to repeat myself
Fifteen beers
No social skills
Slurred speech
Load of toads squirming and whirling in my brain
Pissed as Bukowski, I stagger off from the pub, collapse in an alleyway on James Street and fall asleep
Wake up early in the morning surrounded by graffiti covered walls on cold bitumen- my head hurts like I have been hit between the eyes
There is a weedy little guy with a beard and a shit-eating grin on his face staring at me
When he can see that I am awake he says:
‘I sucked your dick while you were asleep’
I am struck dumb and numb by shock
Not a good feeling- paranoia ensues
I get up and walk briskly away towards the train
At least he didn’t fuck my ass

winona3

I don’t want a woman I keep in a box
To be bought out for fun-times and night-time pneumatic clinches
With electro-mechanical naughty bits and inflatable boobies
Plastic and rubber and no brains at all
The blank emotions of a thing, a doll, an illusion
I don’t want an identikit air-brushed Amazon who only cares about how she looks
Or a narcissistic emotional vampire sucking out my life force like a succubus
I don’t want someone cruel or cold or emotionally unavailable or upwardly mobile or high maintenance
I want a woman with a warm, open heart, with luscious kissable lips and heavenly curvy hips
A gorgeous woman with wonderful boobies and the soul of an artist
Bursting with love and affection for me, and compassionate with everyone
I am not a fussy man or a player
Six beers and I’m anyone’s
I don’t think I’m asking too much
Perhaps I am
Deep down in the cell of my hurricane heart I worry that I’ve already met my ideal woman many times
But she was never interested in me

Kurt_Cobain_drawing_by_HerEvilGothM

To me the nineties were a wild ride through an anamorphic mountain range with mystic-ecstatic highs and dark suicidal lows
Living on the sharp edge of reality enjoying the futile effervescent joy of mindless adolescent kicks
Everything is more real and intense when you’re twenties
And some crazy shit goes down
Some of my friends didn’t make it out alive
I focus on the mountain peaks now when I dream:
Kurt Cobain saving rock and roll from hair metal with a serious punk rock injection
Cool music being in the charts thanks to Kurt
One crime- breaking into a Deli and stealing cigarettes only to find when I got them home they were all Menthol
That moment when a serious hangover was steamrollered to nothing by a shot of smack- the ultimate hangover cure
Hundreds of cones, bongs, pipes and joints to a soundtrack of the great distorted guitar music
Singing along to the Pixies ‘Some Marijuana- if you’ve got some’
Kissing the gorgeous lead singer of the Dumb Angels full on the mouth with a dash of tongue on New Year’s Eve- they were like the Ramones if they were women
Playing a New Years’ gig at the Orient off my head on speed and picking up a groupie
Having an actual beautiful girlfriend who was not made of rubber and enjoyed fucking me
Going to the second Big Day Out with Sonic Youth, Nick Cave and Iggy Pop accompanied by shit-load of quality pharmaceuticals
Iggy started tearing down the stage and shouting ‘Let’s fuck this shit up’
Playing a gig with my band at a punk-rock-party and getting paid in morphine.
Playing my songs to great applause from the other psychiatric patients at Fremantle Hospital and realizing that crazy people are the best people- my tribe
Playing a gig where we sang a song about killing the pigs and smashing the state to an audience that included policemen-who were way pissed off
Getting kicked out of my own gig at the Loft for being too punk rock as I was channelling Iggy Pop while pissed as Shane MacGowan
Dropping acid five times in five days when lining up for the Cure then ending up with an engrossing drug induced psychosis which lead me to believe I was Nick Cave
Playing a gig in a tutu to get in touch with my feminine side and annoy the homophobes
Great friends, great beers, great music, great drugs
Only briefly interrupted by
Occasional classes at University
Occasional weeks of work at crappy jobs

But not enough to spoil the fun

Of sacred rebellion