They inaugurate the first voyage of a ship by breaking a bottle of booze on its bough. While I have no idea what that signifies, I figured it’d be a good way to inaugurate this blog.

Slam a bottle of wine. Red wine.

Fortified and poorly labeled.

It seemed fitting.Something to loosen the fingers. Get to tap tapping on the keyboard. Pausing only to tip back the bottle or click on some free thumbnails. Amateurs. Always amateurs. Maybe some chubby sites if I’ve got writer’s block.

The blog will be part truth, and part fiction, only because I have a hard time differentiating dreams from drunkenness. Sometimes it’s a nice handicap. Other times its just confusing. Did I really lose a thousand dollars at the poker table? Did I really let my baby suckle on that pregnant dog’s teat? Did that stripper really just squirt me with her breast milk? Did I really dig up my dog and put his skull on my computer?

This will be about the stale floorboards under a barstool. Soaking it all in. About the old men who pour cans of beer over ice. The women who mix their gin with one dainty finger. Opening a can with one hand while the other one steers. About puking in a urinal just to make it to midnight. Clacking pool balls and machismo on draft. Women hunched over bars like mashed cigarettes. Spilling a flask at a funeral. And drinking cooking wine because its the only thing to steal. It’ll be about what we have to do, just to make it through. Some of us have pills, some have dimebags, some have the barstool. And if you’re lucky, you have all three…

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