Archive for Vodka

Leprechaun Pussy! It Really Works!

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , on April 5, 2010 by boozecoma

I am great at ignoring things: instructions, bills and girlfriends are top examples. Any health issues that a bottle of vodka can’t cure are deemed expensive luxuries and also ignored. My hearing is shit but I refuse to wear a hearing aid in part because of the vodka rule and the ability to listen to EVERYTHING being said would drive me insane. I don’t feel I am missing out-I think the opposite is true. Consider the following interaction to prove my point:

Idiot: “I just got the cutest sweater for my dog!”

Boozecoma: “What?”

Idiot: “I just got a sweater for my dog.”

Boozecoma: “I didn’t hear you.”

Idiot: “Forget it.”

It’s not only like it never happened, I get to lean over in a way that looks like I am trying to listen when in reality I am getting a closer look at this girl’s rack. However, when the vodka cure doesn’t take, things get jammed up.

A while back I had a thing on my back that grew from “messy pimple” to “could you look at this?” I broke down and scheduled a visit to a dermatologist. A few days before the office visit I was explaining matter-of-factly to my girl at the time that the thing on my back was cancer and I was going to die. The middle of a dive bar was most likely not the place to spit this jazz out because she starting bawling like I just told her that I was fucking her mother… After I calmed her down with an Irish Car Bomb (A dangerous choice-yes the mechanics of drinking it act as a distraction, but she now has a glass AND a shot glass for weapons.) I explained that I don’t really know what the fuck was going on but I need to prepare myself for the absolute worst so I can react like a man and not some junior high cunt that got her cell phone taken away. My callous preparation paid off days later at the doctor’s office. When the old guy looked me over he said “There’s cancer and then there’s cancer…and you don’t have cancer.” Translation: You are not going to die; I can cut this thing out here in the office and stop dating girls 15 years younger than you.

Vodka it seems is not a toothache cure either. I found this out about 3:30 in the morning awoken from a good sleep in writhing pain. I quickly went to the hypochondriac’s best friend-the Internet for advice on how to cure this thing. There are lots of suggestions-quite possibly from people that practice voodoo. There are many other useless cures involving natural herbs and plants like peppermint oils and neem sticks (what the fuck is a neem stick?). Worthless because nobody buys this shit let alone keeps it in their house. One site recommended vanilla extract and I tried it because I had some. It worked! How? It has a small amount of alcohol in it to numb the pain and it tastes so god damned bad you forget about the pain you are in…

As I retold the story of my rotting teeth the next day I was greeted with a series of “sure-fire” cures from my day jobless crew. Every sentence started with “You know what you should have done…” or “This really works…” and ended with the most UN-BE-LIEVE-ABLE idea imaginable, such as igniting a fire in your mouth or eating leprechaun pussy followed by a bystander substantiating the claim! “Leprechaun pussy-I heard that works.” Just like the ‘tards that tell you to “be careful” right after you trip over a curb everyone is an expert after the fact and while I don’t have a cure for hiccups, headaches or heartburn, I do have the cure for this Monday morning problem solving: A 3:30 AM phone call the next time I have a problem. Still want to help?