Archive for the Booze Shit Category

The wretch

Posted in Booze Shit, Bullshit shit, hey bud, go fuck yourself., Music Shit, shooooot on January 21, 2012 by heavymetalspey

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Real American fucking doom. By far this is the band’s best and most prolific album to date. Filled with songs made for crashing horses and swords to. One night this winter, I poured myself what was planned to be a single whiskey and set into motion a chain of events that were a direct result of this album’s immense stature. Listen with caution….

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Cocked and loaded

Posted in Booze Shit, Bullshit shit, Chick Shit, reading writing shit on August 12, 2010 by heavymetalspey

Here I am and here it is. Fucking midnight. I will not proof read this for my fear of the inevitable- misspellings, run ons, blathering, nonsense. Jesus my head is gonna hurt in the morning. My idiocy transcends situations. Like a badge I wear on my chest or a hat with the words “too late” written in bold random font like a ransom note with the intention of informing solid situations, women and destinations of my unfortunate time frame. My intentions always good, my judgement, always clouded. The veil of self loathing looms as if one of the clouds mentioned so full of lightning and rain- yet needing my blessing to begin, Never fully soaks. Self pity not withholding my forthright decisions needing to act as a umbrella. Inebriated Ramblings start as just that- ramblings- but my thought process being so that if I cannot come to terms with my stubbornness to inherently judge myself while sober, well then pour me a double. Let the whisky words flow, let the glass accept the offering and before any logic can be obtained let my bottomless pit inhale the martyr. john the baptist once wrote- “if one is thoughtless in his decisions, bash thyself in the nuts”. I’m paraphrasing a tiny bit but I digress. Good women come and go, opportunities will be missed from time to time. Acceptance and betterment is the hammer of the weapon needed to be cocked for the next, but, goddamnit, I may be hesitant to the thought of wasting rounds, Although i suppose the worst death is one with a full armory.