Holiday ... 'cheer'

Do you want to know what I'm thinking right now? Do you want to know what I'm doing?

Really?

(Fucking leave. Your last fucking chance.)

I'm not drinking bourbon right now.

Do you know why I'm not drinking bourbon right now?

I'll tell you why I'm not drinking bourbon right now. This is why I'm not drinking bourbon right now.

BECAUSE I DON'T FUCKING HAVE BOURBON IN MY GOD DAMN ...

... little dark corner hidden away from my eyes that rest on every FUCKING THING ELSE IN MY 'EFFICIENCY' 'SUITE' but do I HAVE BOURBON THERE?

FUCKING NO!

I had a whole fucking bottle in there. A whole bottle! Where the fuck is it now? I FUCKING NEED THE FULL FUCKING BOTTLE OF BOURBON RIGHT FUCKING NOW!

But do I have it?

I have my 15-year-old Glenlivet there (Scotch for you who don't know your single malts), I have my St. Germaine there, I have my Chartreuse there, I have my ... FUCK CORRECTION ... I HAD — HAD-HAD-HAD — my fucking absinthe there, I have my cognac there (my Louis XIII ... yeah, right, do I look like my dad?) and I have a bottle of vodka, along with a triple sec in the fridge, but do I want ANY of those?

NO!

WHEN I WANT TO DRINK FUCKING BOURBON, I WANT TO DRINK FUCKING BOURBON, and FUCKING VODKA is NOT FUCKING going to DO IT for me when I WANT ... FUCKING ... BOURBON.

Do you know how I got the vodka?

"Oh, putting jalapeños in vodka ... this would really spice up my vodka sauce for my penne dish," says `phfina oh-so-sweetly.

And kind, kind neighbor HANDS ME THE WHOLE 1.75 LITER BOTTLE with a fucking Christmas cheery, 'Oh, here you go.'

And did I say, 'oh, no I couldn't!'

Yes, but how did I say it, as I took the bottle?

yeah.

And now ... that vodka. I don't want it. I don't want it. I WANT FUCKING BOURBON!

Oh, yes, `phfina, you are a mean drunk, aren't you?

HA! FUCKING HA! I FUCKING HAVE TO BE DRUNK TO FUCKING BE A MEAN FUCKING DRUNK!

I have to say, this is the most interesting Christmas I've had in my life.

Right, home-wrecker? Right?

Look. Listen to me. When I say that I'm a shit? That I'm bad, evil, rotten to the core, that I will take you, consume you and spit you out, that I tell you I have a trail of dead bodies behind me ...

Well, it's nice and all that you say, 'Oh, poor baby!' all sympathetically like that.

That's very, very sweet of you.

But you know what's better?

FUCKING. BELIEVE. ME!

God, oh, God, I want that bourbon so bad.

I could just go to the store right now ... it closes in 20 minutes ... and buy as much to last me for the rest of my life. I could just make it.

Hm. I wonder what's cheaper, a bottle of bourbon or a gun.

You know I did read Chuck Palahniuk's book where the main character replaced his home phone number with the suicide hotlines' in bars and such. He was particularly busy around Christmas. His main advice? "Pull the phone away from your ear when you tell them, 'if I were you, I would kill myself.'" He said the sound of the gunshot can be deafening.

And, no, I don't remember the title of the book. You can google it. And, yes, I am just peachy right now. Super great and getting better.

Fuck me.

Ha. hahaha. That's so funny.