Our boozer predecessors could throw pens or typewriters, stumble leaving the bar, drop their written word into a pile of horse shit and few, if anyone at all, would be the wiser.
Many great writers throughout history have been drunks. They drank, wrote words, and drank more. Sure, they must have really struggled with candle lit inkwells or later, the heavy typewriters. Writer's block sucks too, but the old greats did not have to struggle with our maddening and sometimes dangerous, modern technology.
Our boozer predecessors could throw pens or typewriters at anyone or anything they wanted, stumble leaving the bar and faceplant with some degree of privacy. No worries of pictures of them placed all over the bar at their favorite haunt the next morning. Hell, they could drop their written word into a pile of horse shit but few others, if anyone at all, would be the wiser. These vintage boozers could start off right where they left off, unscathed from the torments we modern, drunken writers might face if we fuck up. Like those, "Are you OK? bags" left on my doorstep by those cunty, do-gooder hecklers that live next door. How dare those fucknuts!
We can all agree that save for a few inventions, modern technology assists modern boozers. The mini computer or cell phone allows us to capture any moment we want through voice, pictures, or written word. They are time stamps, so if you are a positive thinking person, you might think that this is a great resource of documenting your super important existence, and you are partially correct. Drunkards are usually partially correct, but do we NEED documentation of that? After all, we do love repeating the same boring shit talk to the same fuzzy orbs on those tall, skinny pedestals we surround ourselves with at the pub, and they seem to know everything you have just told them for the very first time. We just need to get our brilliance out past that pub, to a grander audience! Surely the history books need to be filled with our new age thinking and modern technology can provide us with this fulfillment. We have the ease of potential success right in our stinky, drunken hands until we drop the slippery fucker in the toilet.
Like our foreboozers, we reach down, pull our pros out of the shit and wipe them off.
However, unlike those old windbags, we modern boozers cannot just pull a doily from a nightstand, wipe, and spray our hard work with some stank whore's perfume. No way; we have to run like hell to find some fucking rice to put in a plastic baggy so we can throw our machine into a rice filled baggy for a week, and then, muster the hope for the machine to work again. Meanwhile, we have to try to remember the one fucking password that allows us to reach an imaginary "cloud" that supposedly holds all of our precious memories for us, you know, those memories that you don't remember like FUCKING PASSWORDS or where your rice went or whether or not you even have any fucking baggies because you are as tight as a fart! But what if you don't drop the phone in the toilet when you have a good heat on?
Well, then you might call someone when you are hammered...I know I don't have to tell you how that bad decision always ends. IT ALWAYS ENDS IN TEARS if your body has any fluid to spare. You dial, and just before the name calling or crying begins, you are creating new memories to share with the weary victim. But what if nobody you dial picks up?
TEXTS LAST FOREVER! What were you thinking?
Well, now you have a real problem. As drunkards, we come up with thousands of bad ideas that keep giving like herpes and sting like a jellyfish with rabies. One great example is texting while vulcanized. Since nobody answers your relentless ringing, you decide to text those sleeping fuckers just to show them that you are not a boring drunk. Hell, you even have pictures to prove it or at least you can take some. Our wobbly foreboozers were safely void of such disasters. They may have written something horrible, but hell, they could just throw it in ye ole' fireplace and forget about it. But we mega-drunks can create history in a nanosecond any number of ways. Consciously and boldly texting someone something so horrible, raunchy, naked, or embarrassing is retarded thinking even when you are drunk. PUT THAT PHONE DOWN! Do your best to think:
What if that someone you text is the wrong someone, like the person you have been interviewing with for the next job you are most definitely going to get fired from or you haphazardly text our almost new, dreamy future ex? Yep, you are fuckered! Can't make that go away especially if it takes you a week before you notice that you did it. Thankfully, modern technology chronicles your bad ideas, mishaps, poor photos, and location while you are hammered, so get back on that barstool, pat yourself on the back, and get back to swapping some lies with fellow booze hounds without your phone.
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