“I don’t like alcoholic beverages anymore because they make me act silly while I’m under their influence and then they make me feel bad after I’ve recovered from their disorientating effects.” — porfle
This is a direct quote from something that I just thought to myself in my own head, so I can’t sue myself for slander because I know for a fact that I actually thought this, and then wrote it down just now. So there’s no way I can rightfully stand up and indignantly proclaim, “Hey! I never said that! See you in court, a**hole!”
And even if I won the lawsuit, I’d just be paying myself so the best I could do would be to break even. So I’ve decided to settle this whole thing out of court before it gets ugly, and besides, most judges don’t put up with silly nonsense like people suing themselves except in funny comedy movies with Morgan Freeman in them.
If I had a nickel for every gallon of beer that I’ve imbibed, Ted Kennedy would win the Indianapolis 500 on a fart-propelled lawn chair. I used to drink so much beer that my brain cells were replaced with beer cells, and then my brain itself was replaced with the state of Arkansas. I used to go into withdrawal whenever I didn’t have beer, even if I had to pay for it myself.
It got to the point where I began signing my name “Beer” and only hearing sentences with the word “beer” in them, so I came really close to failing algebra. My high school diploma reads, “This is to certify that Beer has successfully completed the blah, blah, blah…” I never appreciated the “blah, blah, blah” part, but I went to a really indifferent high school. Our commencement speech was delivered by Wilford Brimley’s proctologist, who told us: “You’re all doomed.”
I used to drink until I threw up, which really irritated my dentist. Finally it got to the point where I was standing on a street corner every day with a sign that said, “Will Drink Beer For Beer.” This continued until I realized that the street corner was really the goat cage at Biff’s Petting Zoo and the sign was really a huge photograph of Gary Busey in a string bikini. That’s when I knew that beer was literally taking over my life and I had to stop drinking before it was too late. So I became a heroin addict.
Ha ha, I’m just joking about that last part. It was really a picture of Tommy Lee Jones in a string bikini. But now that I’ve completely stopped drinking beer I’ve begun to appreciate the little things in life a whole lot more, which is driving me nuts. Yesterday I went outside and appreciated the song of the lark for about two hours, until it dawned on me that I was really listening to my neighbor’s kids doing lark imitations through a bullhorn. Then I decided to try appreciating the simple beauty of a sunset, but it kept getting darker and darker until finally I couldn’t see a damn thing, so I went inside and appreciated the simple beauty of whacking off to bestiality porn. Ha ha, just joking again. I didn’t really go inside.
So now that I’ve decided to stop drinking, I’ve really cut down substantially on my drinking. And when you manage to accomplish something worthwhile such as this, you should always celebrate by doing something nice for yourself, like getting drunk. Yes, I know that doesn’t make sense. But if I made sense all the time, I’d have a high-paying job like chrome-plating Al Gore’s buttocks or valet-parking aircraft carriers while drunk and accidentally crashing them into small coastal cities. Which is probably why Al Gore only hires non-drinkers to chrome-plate his buttocks, because the last time they crashed into a small coastal city, one of his inflamed hemorrhoids demolished a 7-Eleven.