How often are "Harvey Wall-Bangers" ordered?

This thread got weird.

F**ked in front of the other couple. That's actually pretty hot.

epic.

Hunter Thompson 2.0

Keep em coming barkeep

Have you ever poured worse liquor into higher end labeled bottles?

Hunter. A beast of a man.

"The Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over."

Moments like these make me doubt the wisdom of my decision making process.

This is a rare practice. I've worked in places where it goes on. Mostly, the top shelf bottles get topped of with call liquor and the call liquors get topped off with well.

Really safe from this in Vegas because we are so heavily regulated. Local privately owned joints might indulge... probably rare though.

If you really have a boner for the ultra premium stuff then you're better off splurging for the bottle from a liquor store.

That whole high end liquor market is mostly bull ****. Dudes who think a shot of Louis is going to change their life don't meet enough women.

There is nothing worth buying. The minute money comes out of pocket you are being played.

Yeah. Kinda worked out for my boy too. They were new too each other. After my little demo she was like, "Oh, if it's that kind of party..." So, he got laid.

Best.
Wingman.
Ever.

I've seen some terrible ****. I've seen the homeless girl dancing on the corner. She has her shirt pulled up. She's rubbing her belly. She's pretending there is a baby. Her man is laying flat. His head is hanging over the edge where the sidewalk ends. He's puking in the dirt.

I'm just rolling past. In my car. Listening to the news, listening to the weather, listening to whatever just pretending like this isn't happening. I'm still so drunk.

The old man is at the bar. Every day. Same clothes. Same hat. Bud light and tequila on the rocks. Just over and over he doesn't stop. I see him when I leave. Sitting on a bench. I roll past to a better life but I'm scared.

There's a place where no one cares if you are alive.

I'm detoured through naked city. I'm just struggling to navigate my way home drunk. There's this young black girl in the median. Screaming. Laying flat and pounding her fists into the dirt just screaming. I'm stopped at a red light. My windows down. Hearing this horror.

“It's a strange world. Some people get rich and others eat **** and die.”
--HST

nice writering

Okay.

Everyday I wake up and regret who I am. I look at myself in the mirror and see those same eyes. The body is moving around. Those eyes stay fixed in the mirror. The voice behind those eyes is asking.

I just keep moving while they watch me. I understand the disappointment. I pretend that at some point I will care about someone else. When really, the only person I care about is myself. I'm only concerned about myself and my own pleasure.

I blast every minute away as if I'm the only person in the world.

I sit up all night drinking and smoking and listening to music having gambled my money away. I wake up to an embarrassed wife and confused kids. My old man is rooting for me so hard and I just keep letting him down.

I just want to burn whiskey deep into the night. I want to get drunk and fight. I want to **** until my dick is sore. I want to do all of these things and fight the cops when they show up. I want to gamble all of my money away. I want to kill a man. I want to pound my fists into his face until he goes limp. I want to look up at the sky covered in blood and ask what now.

I want to do all of these things but I still have to keep on pretending that I am a normal person. I still have to do whatever normal people do. Wake up, drink coffee, read the news.

Please help me with my prose.

please hire me, i'll be the best bar back ever

All of these drunk ramblings remind me of some Ed Norton-esque Fight Club monologue.

Do you actually have a wife and kids?

how many 2p2ers have you met?

Or a PG version of Hunter S. Thompson.

Dear God with this relentless sun.

I want to type something but I'm caught up in Junior Kimbrough. I just need to keep typing until something comes out. Anything now just reaching. Just keep typing and sooner or later you will hit on something. Something important. Something life changing.

I'm sixteen years old and at my grandfathers retirement party. I sneak out for a smoke. I'm smoking a cigarette. They gave him a cheap watch. A plaque. I'll never be a sucker for that. My girl can't wait for me to get back home. A watch and a plaque for his forty years.

I named my first son after him. He was being born while my grandaddy was dying. Lung cancer. I couldn't make it back. I was too ****ed up on booze and trying to hold down a job. Before he died he asked my old man, "Where is the boy?"

He's a million miles away and he'll never know anything about you.

lol

i can get you in

So much of it is terrible And embarrassing.

There's something in it though.

BA,

You should start a blog in the house of blogs forum here. Or have this thread moved over there.

I should, thanks. Sorry I went off the rails so hard. This thread kinda ****ed me up. I've been on a four month bender where all I am doing is boozing and gambling all of my money. I was going so hard that I started having hallucinations. I took the last three days to detox and try to sober up.

I started this thread to get an outlet other than gambling. When I got a positive response from my stories I started digging more up. I got into this weird feedback loop where: the stories are good, I'm occasionally writing a good line, and I'm realizing how ****ed up I am.

I just started spilling out the results of my substance abuse.

It felt good though.

I took a huge karma dump of just about everything that makes me feel like a bad person. It sucks that I did it here. I hope readers got some entertainment value.

I'm going to spend the next two months getting clean. It's late in the game and if I'm going to do something with my life I better get started.

It's 4:42 AM on a Friday morning in Las Vegas. There's a guy, couple of years my senior, walking around my apartment complex pool deck with no shirt on. He's checking all of the ash trays. He's pulling butts and lighting them up. Standing there to smoke them.

I've got two packs of Camels sitting next to me. There's a woman in my bed asleep. I've got a six pack of beer in the fridge. I just got a little score. I'm going to start my work week tonight. I'll make some more money that I don't really need.

I'm going to finish writing this, light up a smoke, and listen to the blues. I'm going to watch this guy walk around digging smokes out of the ashtrays. I want to be grateful. All I will think is, "How the **** do I keep from becoming you?"

I think it's all luck.