I Fell Off the Wagon and I Feel Great!

Photo by Evgenii Pliusnin on Unsplash

by Stosh Bartkowski, a squatter on John DiFelice’s account

Jesus Christ. What a rush! What’s the date? Not the day, man, the year! Oh Daddy. Say it ain’t so.

Bro-bus, I just fell off the wagon and got dragged down ten miles of bad road on my face. I now have that bone-smooth shave all the ladies crave.

Hey, Mr. Construction worker, are those bells gonna ring? Can you delay it by a few mino-tos, por favor? Do a bro a solid.

I know I look pretty banged up. You don’t see many guys passed out in front of a church. But you should’ve seen me yesterday. I hadn’t had a drink for almost eight years until last night. Then I put on a little drinking display in a bar that looked like something out of Train Spotting. I drank two six packs of beer, a bottle of red wine, half a bottle of Beam, and a fifth of Myers Rum that “shivered me timbers.” And you know what? My tolerance hadn’t decreased one iota. It’s as if my liver and kidneys had been frozen in time, waiting for me to start drinking again. It’s true. After the first glorious swig, my liver tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Hey asshole, we doin’ this again?” And I said, “Looks that way. And don’t call me asshole.”

I didn’t want to start drinking again. I tried to quit for a long time. I finally did it all on my own, and wouldn’t you know it? Other alcoholics who needed AA to quit told me that I wasn’t really an alcoholic because I didn’t need AA. That was rough, hearing that. I’m sure they didn’t mean to break my morale, but that’s what happens when you join a cult.

I truly believe that every man, woman, and child in this country is part of a cult. Years ago, people used to be part of organizations or groups. When you join an organization, you don’t react violently when someone disagrees with you. The Key Club doesn’t care what the Chess Club thinks about climate change. That’s always the tell.

Speaking of a tell, I lost my shit at Texas Hold’em last night at one of those newfangled casinos that are poppin’ up all over God’s creation. I was polluted and kept telling the Hold’em dealer to hit me like we were playing Black Jack. He finally did hit me, right across the face, shortly before he had security escort me out. That was something to see. There were two other players that I’d considered close friends by that point, and the dealer smacked me and my manz across the face like we were The Three Stooges.

You know what else is a cult? Pharmaceutical Companies. Don’t Fear the Reaper, my ass. FEAR the Pharma Cult. Beware the True Believers. For realsies.

I know a lot of people swear by their drug of choice, but I ask you: what’s the difference between being an alcoholic and being someone who takes five different types of anti-depressants a day? At least alcohol is a known entity. For better or worse, alcohol has been around since the beginning of agriculture. Everyone knows the deal. Uncle Stosh is going to be the perfect gentleman at dinner until he does a couple shots of Jager, and then it’s “hide all the children” time. Alcohol has been in lock step with human progress. Scientists don’t know which was invented first: bread or beer. Both involve yeast, water, and grains. Could you imagine how different the gospel could’ve been if you made a slight change in emphasis? The Beer of Life. Jesus could’ve fed the multitude with two fishes and five beers. That would’ve been a party. Not as good as last night, but hey.

I’m not saying there aren’t people who shouldn’t drink, like anyone who’s making life difficult for one other person because of their drinking. I guess that includes me. However, after I quit drinking, everyone — including my mother — told me to go into therapy to talk about my problems and become a better person. That eventually led to me going to see a psychiatrist. Over the eight years that I was sober, doctors put me on the following drugs.

  • Zoloft

How is that being sober? I was on more drugs than I had ever been on in my life. And the side effects? Oh, Lordy! I honestly couldn’t tell you who I was anymore. And let’s not forget the irritability, rage, delusions of grandeur, impulsiveness, migraines, joint and muscle pain, short-term memory loss, and the inability to maintain an erection. No wonder I went back to drinking. After what the Pharma companies served up, I couldn’t get shit-faced fast enough!

So here’s what I propose. Throw out all your meds, buy a fifth of Makers, and join me, face down, on the church lawn. It’s a groovy what to go, and much, much cheaper.

Let’s listen to the bells. Those glorious bells!


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