Life As I See It...
Seems like the more things change, the more they remain the same. I sit here tonight, in a warm November setting, thankful for the opportunity to sit on the deck and enjoy what I fear is the last of the nice weather for the year. I am filled with melancholy, and don't much care for that. I have a ton of Prozac floating around in my system, have been sampling from a fifth of Canadian Mist, and should be a happy camper, according to the dune coon that treats me at the VA. Not...
I think about what my life has been like. I have had a great ride, and am thankful. I have a ton of good friends, have been laid by some of the foxiest women in the world, and have made a ton of cash in sundry activities, not all of them legal. I rode a Harley that was as fast as a striped assed ape for many years, and enjoyed the company of an outlaw motorcycle gang, many of them still very close friends. When they plant my old ass, I will have an escort guaranteed to blow the mind. Now, I sit here in what I feel the December of my years, and think about this shit.
My doc told me at my last visit to the VA that I had a stroke sometime in the past few months. So what the fuck is with that? Have I had an episode that I was unaware of? Possibly it was during the times of anxiety, when I soothed the soul with peppermint schnapps and good Canadian whiskey. Or maybe one of the fucking flashbacks that I am plauged with took a bit more of a toll than I care to admit to. Who the fuck cares about this shit? I have to say it don't mean nothin'...
I live my life according to the plan I have laid out for me. I drink too much, take too many drugs, and sleep a lot more than the average bear. But shit! I have earned the right to do that, have I not? Am I to live a life of total abstinence, not having a bit of fun, not having the time to search my soul when the effects of too much Canadian whiskey takes its toll? What the fuck would life be like? Would I go to church on Sunday? Be a good little citizen and volunteer at the local hospital and wipe the drool off the chins of those less fortunate? Live on tofu and bean sprouts, and have my long suffering wife change my diddies when I am in my dotage, a prime example of what the good docs can do with their script drugs?
Better, I think, to go out in a blaze of glory. Better to endo on a fast fucking road at the ton. Better to maybe drown myself in the best of the Canadian, which is my passion. Smoke a big fatboy of the finest weed around, and maybe high side on a big jolt of China White. Better that I leave this world while I still have control of what few faculties I have left, and not be dependent on those I love. They would surely end up resenting me, and I couldn't stand that. Who knows? Nirvana may be straight ahead...
Fuck it, don't mean nothin'...
Charlie~
Seems like the more things change, the more they remain the same. I sit here tonight, in a warm November setting, thankful for the opportunity to sit on the deck and enjoy what I fear is the last of the nice weather for the year. I am filled with melancholy, and don't much care for that. I have a ton of Prozac floating around in my system, have been sampling from a fifth of Canadian Mist, and should be a happy camper, according to the dune coon that treats me at the VA. Not...
I think about what my life has been like. I have had a great ride, and am thankful. I have a ton of good friends, have been laid by some of the foxiest women in the world, and have made a ton of cash in sundry activities, not all of them legal. I rode a Harley that was as fast as a striped assed ape for many years, and enjoyed the company of an outlaw motorcycle gang, many of them still very close friends. When they plant my old ass, I will have an escort guaranteed to blow the mind. Now, I sit here in what I feel the December of my years, and think about this shit.
My doc told me at my last visit to the VA that I had a stroke sometime in the past few months. So what the fuck is with that? Have I had an episode that I was unaware of? Possibly it was during the times of anxiety, when I soothed the soul with peppermint schnapps and good Canadian whiskey. Or maybe one of the fucking flashbacks that I am plauged with took a bit more of a toll than I care to admit to. Who the fuck cares about this shit? I have to say it don't mean nothin'...
I live my life according to the plan I have laid out for me. I drink too much, take too many drugs, and sleep a lot more than the average bear. But shit! I have earned the right to do that, have I not? Am I to live a life of total abstinence, not having a bit of fun, not having the time to search my soul when the effects of too much Canadian whiskey takes its toll? What the fuck would life be like? Would I go to church on Sunday? Be a good little citizen and volunteer at the local hospital and wipe the drool off the chins of those less fortunate? Live on tofu and bean sprouts, and have my long suffering wife change my diddies when I am in my dotage, a prime example of what the good docs can do with their script drugs?
Better, I think, to go out in a blaze of glory. Better to endo on a fast fucking road at the ton. Better to maybe drown myself in the best of the Canadian, which is my passion. Smoke a big fatboy of the finest weed around, and maybe high side on a big jolt of China White. Better that I leave this world while I still have control of what few faculties I have left, and not be dependent on those I love. They would surely end up resenting me, and I couldn't stand that. Who knows? Nirvana may be straight ahead...
Fuck it, don't mean nothin'...
Charlie~
posted by Charlie Allnut | 9:21 PM
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