Breaking up is hard to do
Posted on Tue Jun 26 10:07:00 UTC 2007
Me and bourbon whiskey, we used to have this thing. For a time it was love (or close enough) but after a while I think we went the way of all relationships, things turned stale, they started to stagnate and I got claustrophobic, I needed my personal space and so I broke it off. Relationships always seem to have an expiry date, a month and year of best-before and I felt that we had reached ours. She was understandably upset. There's a safety in familiar things and we have a lot of history.
Sometimes she still calls me up on the telephone, “Hey baby” she says in a voice like burnt brown sugar, “Hey baby I will suck your dick so sweetly, I will make your toes curl and your hands shake. Remember all the good times?”, and then I'm tempted, I am sorely tempted because when we are good we are great. I do remember all the good times, pissing into peoples letterboxes, waxing lyrical our heartfelt conversations sunk with drunken meaning deep into the staggering dawn. I was a battle scarred barbarian prince, and her an amazon queen, lithe and tall and fiery. We used to run the streets of this town together, an unstoppable unbeatable team together we ruled this city resolute and fearless; broke no discussion, took no crap from anyone at all.
But when we fought it was terrible. Awful. The names we called each other I don't want to think about and the vicious beatings I dished out are definitely best forgotten. To my shame I still saw other spirits on the sly. Wandering hands: sleek vodka was always charming and very easy on the eye and the rough coarse farm girl beer I found at times to be irresistible. Extremely jealous she always was, envious of any threat and guarded with my time.
I'm done with alcohol, but all those girls I used to love, dear god, they still love me.
Sometimes she still calls me up on the telephone, “Hey baby” she says in a voice like burnt brown sugar, “Hey baby I will suck your dick so sweetly, I will make your toes curl and your hands shake. Remember all the good times?”, and then I'm tempted, I am sorely tempted because when we are good we are great. I do remember all the good times, pissing into peoples letterboxes, waxing lyrical our heartfelt conversations sunk with drunken meaning deep into the staggering dawn. I was a battle scarred barbarian prince, and her an amazon queen, lithe and tall and fiery. We used to run the streets of this town together, an unstoppable unbeatable team together we ruled this city resolute and fearless; broke no discussion, took no crap from anyone at all.
But when we fought it was terrible. Awful. The names we called each other I don't want to think about and the vicious beatings I dished out are definitely best forgotten. To my shame I still saw other spirits on the sly. Wandering hands: sleek vodka was always charming and very easy on the eye and the rough coarse farm girl beer I found at times to be irresistible. Extremely jealous she always was, envious of any threat and guarded with my time.
I'm done with alcohol, but all those girls I used to love, dear god, they still love me.