Monday, April 14, 2014


(Manny Pacquiao is still kicking ass at age 35.)

On Saturday night, I sauntered into town and got steaming drunk.  I can't even remember how I arrived home.  I'm assuming that I walked.  I didn't spend a lot of money.  Maybe forty dollars at the most.  I drank the cheapest draft beer on the menu.

That's the problem with me and alcohol.  I  have Keith Moon disease.  Once I start, I refuse to stop.  And my behavior--although never violent--can become a bit outrageous.  My social skills are severely lacking.  I've had my ass kicked several times while intoxicated.  I don't know how to keep my mouth shut.

I woke up at 8 a.m. on Sunday morning.  The Dragon Lady was pissed.  Our humble abode was covered in my vomit.  I was too hungover to clean.  So she went to work with a rag and some soapy water.  That woman is spotless.  You could eat off our floors.

I was too sick to go to church.  I spent the entire day relaxing in bed.  I also downloaded the Manny Pacquiao bout.  Manny beat Tim Bradley quite easily.  But you've got to hand it to Bradley.  He's a tough hombre.  He wasn't hurt on one single occasion.  Manny's just too fast for most guys to handle.

I watched Game of Thrones.  There was a great fight scene featuring The Dog.  He killed five men with his huge sword.  Lots of violence and gore.  That's how Smith prefers his television.  Nice and bloody.

I paid homage to the Christ God.  I said the Lord's Prayer on bended knees.  No big surprise.  It's not like I'm some filthy atheist.  

I went to bed at 10 p.m.  I had a nightmare about my father.  He was too drunk to drive home from work.  So he spent the night in his truck.  He slept peacefully in the cab.  But I kept tapping on the window to get his attention.

I woke up at six a.m. and drank several cups of coffee.  Then I read the paper while enjoying a bathroom break.  Koreans are up in arms about the deaths of two children who were repeatedly beaten by their stepmothers.  The government is being petitioned to strengthen the current child abuse laws.

I turned on Fox News.  Three people were murdered at a Jewish Community Center in Kansas City.  The culprit shouted Heil Hitler before pulling the trigger of his handgun.  The crazy coot is 70-years-old.  Go figure.

Anyway, it's time for the song du jour.  Here's Ashes to Ashes by David Bowie.  God bless.       


  1. “Ashes to ashes, funk to funky, we know Major Tom’s a junkie, strung-out on heaven’s high, hitting an all time low…”

    I speak from experience. How appropriate that you re-enforce/re-live, over-and-over, this inculcated self-destructive meme—job number one of our Talmudic overlords for all races, not just the goy (Yes, the rag-heads don’t own the central banks, nor the music industry, nor that traumatizing-PTSD-corrupting-filth you like to watch on tv: monkey see, monkey do).

    My Dear Good Smith:

    I like your blog, ‘You are the salt of the earth.’ type of goy and also in quite a pickle, you need to preserve this could-be-hellish earthly existence, yet the junk food and sugar are killing you rapidly, and the alcohol and smokes far quicker—all as designed. You need to endure, have preservation, you may begin to understand the lessons in your good book about salt, (and the root of salary: ‘Man’s got to earn his salt?’), and yes, even salvation—you seek salvation now, for you have ‘great-duties/heavy-burden’ in this life: you want to endure.


    Please take this all with a grain of salt. Even our overlords understand the inefficiencies-of-existence in a self-burdened man (and the exact point to their particular dark inculcations); you know, evil day in and day out, probably gets pretty draining on one’s psychic? So some practice the liberating aspects of a sacrifice to Moloch in a ritual called “A Cremation of Care”—smell the burnt flesh, ah, much better now…an act of obedience.

    Fortunately, like you adeptly point out in your, ‘I don’t got to live like no stinkin’ pagan.’ In the part that brings me to your blog, the daily submission on your knees—a joyful reminder for me. Yes, you could say my cares are heavy too (Interesting paradox, how you can gain self-mastery/freedom through application/obedience). So cast off your yoke Good Smith, put in action that faith (limit alcohol, junk food, sugar, simple carbohydrates—a mostly ketogenic diet) and seek salvation now, may you endure well…

    This is what I did, and maybe a better solution than burning the Dragon Lady? You will stumble, so keep that faith and take-in baby steps; try to minimize this, “Like a dog that returns to its vomit, so is a fool that is insane in his foolishness.” Oh, and don’t relive/glorify it through your choice in music and media—yes, you are programmed to self-destruct, but it is for a humane cause.

    A Fan

    1. That's a great post. Thanks for the insight.

      I DO need to cut down on the sugar and television violence.

      But once I give them up, I've got nothing left.


  2. Did getting plastered help your flu symptoms? It's worked for me...hope you're feeling better.

  3. Well, having a bad hangover, that'll learn you. Many of those of us who have given up drinking are taught that it's the first drink that gets you, not the last...

    Many of us here in the USA are riveted by the whole Bundy Ranch fiasco in Nevada. There seems to be a quantum jump in how much people are pissed off here.

    1. You're absolutely correct. The FIRST drink is a problem. One is too many, and ten aren't enough.

  4. my Filipino/Filipina family thinks PacMan rocks. best, Jay

  5. Everybody loves Manny. I think he can beat Floyd. Mayweather doesn't throw enough punches.

  6. Sorry to hear about your bad bout with the bottle, Mr. Smith. From what I've seen about alcoholics, there's a switch in their brain circuitry that gets flipped with that first drink, and it doesn't shut off until they're too blitzed to lift another glass to their lips. It's not a "bad moral character" thing; it's bad inherited brain chemistry. We're all just walking bags of neurotransmitters. Some people's brains are wired for OCD of the obsessive-compulsive disorder, where there's a cluster of repetitively-firing brain cells that says "You must touch the doorknob five times each time you leave the room." Others are wired for OCD of the outta-control drinking behaviour, where that first blast of alcohol starts a part of the brain that says "You must drink five more beers." The moral character part comes with deciding whether or not to take that first one. Good luck with making the right choice, because you need to do it every day for the rest of your life. As Clint Eastwood's character said in my favourite movie, "The Outlaw Josey Wales," "A man's got to know his limitations."

    Personally, I'm glad I can drink booze and quit before I go blotto. I got a $200 gift card as a sign-up bonus from the nursing agency I work for last December. It's for one of the two major grocery/liquor/petrol station conglomerates that dominate the Australian market. In Oz, pretty much every business sector -- food, telecoms, airlines, print media, automobile manufacturing -- evolves into a duopoly. The country's too large, and the population's too small, to support more diversity. But government anti-monopoly regulations and the natural laws of economics -- if there's a profit to be made, more players will crowd in until the excess profit potential is gone -- prevent a single player from dominating.

    Anyway, I thought I had to spend this $200 on food. That was fine, because I haven't laid in the 6-month supply of food that I like to keep around the house so I won't die immediately in case of disasters like earthquakes, storms or the most likely thing these days, a financial crisis that brings everything to a halt. $200 would be a good start, but I'll probably invest about $500 in canned tuna, beans, pasta, flour, sugar, etc. It's like buying an insurance policy against the remote possibility of starving to death.

    The problem is, since I have decided not to buy a car here, how do I get $200 worth of groceries home on the tram in one fell swoop? My internal tight-arse meter will not allow me to take a cab. Then I read the fine print (which brings me back to why I'm writing this long-winded BS). It said I could spend the $200 at the liquor store chain that's owned by this grocery duopolist. Score! Booze is ridiculously expensive in Oz -- like $40+ for a bottle -- and it comes in 700 ml containers, not 750s like in the U.S. Plus it's watered down to 37.5% alcohol content, rather than the 40% that's standard in the U.S. I brought down my fancy empty bottles of high-end rum, tequila, Canadian whiskey, etc. when I immigrated. Now I have fulfilled my plan of refilling them with cheap local hooch.

    But I don't feel any urge to drink them. It's just another stockpiled resource to keep around. Plus I feel that a cultured person should be able to entertain by providing basic mixed drinks when company comes over. Which is why I keep a dozen bottles of various wines on hand. Only, when I drink, these days I get sleepy (not passing out, just drowsy) instead of going wild. So I don't do that much, unless I have nothing else on the agenda for that consciousness period and am ready to retire.

    1. I never really thought of myself as being an alcoholic. I just don't drink that much. But I do have a hard time stopping once that first taste hits me. Best just to stay away from it altogether.


Thanks for stopping by. Smith.