Ron Speaks Truth #5- Bunko, Drinking, The Word "Fuck" and Grandmaster Flash... And
Hemingway
It's time I come to grips with a problem I have. Some may not agree that it's a problem at all. In fact, some may
think I'm blessed to have such a problem. For me, it's a burden. I carry my burden like an albatross around my
neck. It's my cross to bear. My scarlet letter. (Any more fucking metaphors and I'll be the next Ernest Hemingway. .
.shit another one, sorry.)
My burden? I'm not an asshole when I drink.
Quit laughing. I'm serious. Despite what my friends think, I'm no bigger of an asshole when I drink than I am in real
life, and it's killing me. Some background is in order.
One night while at a friend's bunko (1) party I was chastised for using the word "fuck" in polite conversation, which
is something I would do from time to time whether I had been drinking or not. My retort was that I used "fuck" in
front of other adults only and the adults I was using it in front of, although they were female, were adults who knew
damn well just what person was using it, and therefore, should not be so shocked. The debate went of for several
minutes with the person voicing her outrage claiming that she did not normally use such language (bullshit) unless
she had been drinking.
I thought then, as I do now, that using drinking as an alibi for foul language is pretty fucking weak (yes, I'm sober
right now). Being the tangential thinker that I am, it made me realize why people remark that they can't tell if I'm
drunk or not (when I have been drinking, not all the time). Part of that may be due to the fact that I don't normally
drink so as gravity may impose its ugly laws inversely to my upper body, thus drawing it into direct contact with the
pavement. It may mostly have to do with the fact that I'll say most anything, sober or drunk. I know when to mind
my manners and when it's OK to use foul language. Being drunk does not seem to affect my sense of judgment in
those areas. My judgment may have been impaired in the past when it came to just how attractive certain women
were and what a good idea making out and even sleeping with them was at the time, but I was pretty consistent
with my social behaviors. Of course, this also led friends to assume I was sober enough to drive home because I
was the least likely to mouth off to authorities and thus draw attention to myself needlessly. But that's another story
for another time.
My inane ability to keep my wits about me while being inebriated has another unwanted side-effect; I get to baby sit
my drunken friends. It happens less frequently now since most of my friends are married and that task has fallen
unto their wives, lucky souls. I went to Tijuana with college buddies once and had to practically sneak them back
across the border to San Ysidro after they had consumed enough tequila to immediately transform them into the
quintessential "Ugly Americans." I have fond memories of calling a friend's mother at 2:00 in the morning to tell her
that her son would be home late because he was ridding himself of excess liquor by way of vomiting all over some
poor slob's bathroom (I guess the toilet was too small a target). I went to my best friend’s wedding in Atlanta. Many
of us went out to some of Atlanta's finest Gentlemen's Clubs for some pre-wedding entertainment. Guess who
became the designated driver once the actual designated driver had consumed three tequila shots and was getting
lap dances from a mostly nude redhead? If you said me, you might have actually been there. As a side note, I'm
not really a connoisseur of strip clubs as I find them to be a tremendous waste of money. I mean, spend 10 or 20
bucks just to get in, pay $5 for a bottle of Budweiser just to throw dollar bills at a woman showing me her boobs
and ass? I'll pass, drink my own beer, watch some free internet porn then go jerk-off or take out my libidinousness
(I actually spell checked that word) on my wife. But in Atlanta, things are different. You get full nudity with your
booze. The lap dances are still a stupid idea. Think about it, you pay some stripper to rub her naked hoo-ha on
your leg and act like she’s actually interested in using that boner she's aroused in your Dockers. Then she swipes
your card, says, "Thanks," and moves on to the next schlep. Again, I'll pass.
My point here, for those of you still with me, is this; many people go about their daily lives in total fantasy. They
act, simply put. I mean to say, they put on an act. There is no consistency in how they carry out their routines.
Calling me out for saying "fuck" in conversation (I think the sentence was, "That was pretty fucked up," harmless)
and then having a few drinks and swearing like a sailor with a hard-on is the epitome of hypocrisy. I really don't
mean to cast stones, but people like this bug the shit out of me. It probably explains the lack of friends at this time
in my life, which is OK. I'm choosing quality over quantity. Great, I surround myself with foul-mouthed drunks. At
least I know what they'll say when I ask them for help moving or for a ride somewhere: "Fuck off."
Alcohol has been called the "asshole magnifier." So this means one of two things for me; either I'm not much of an
asshole or I'm just such an asshole all the time, no one notices when I'm drunk (and that's most of the time on the
weekends). Please, don't take offense if you are one of those who can be, shall we say, standoffish, when you've
had a few. Everyone has a bad day or gets in a bad mood. Even I have imbibed and gone spoiling for a fight. I'm
talking about the everyday reaction of certain drinkers. No matter who they are, their true colors will come out after
a couple of Jack and Cokes.
I'm probably wrong about all this. Maybe I'm just a whiny little bitch.
Maybe I just need a drink; then I'll tell you what I really think, motherfucker.
(1) Bunko is a game normally played by large groups of older women who have lost the thrill of going to bingo and seek lower jackpots. It is played with 3 dice and by
teams of 2 players seated at a table of 4 players. The idea is to roll all 3 dice and get as many to come up with the designated number. The first round you're shooting for
1s; next round 2s and so on. If all three come up with the designated number, i.e., three 3s, it's called a "Bunko" and you get very excited and everyone else in the party
immediately hates you. At the end, money is divided, the women get excited; now I’m broke, it's no joke; it's hard as hell to fight it, so don't buy it. Sorry for the Grandmaster
Flash reference and for the extensive use of a footnote in this piece.