Written for Sue & Gerry’s Weekly Prompts
Weekend Challenge using the word ‘excessive’.
Here’s where the prompt took me.
Tag: Drinking
Rockin’ The Milky Way
Written for Only Murders In My Mind
Weekly Writing Prompt – #83.
Here’s where the photo prompt took me.
The Dreamers
Our gracious host, Rochelle, at Friday Fictioneers
asks us to use the photo below as inspiration
to write creatively in 100 words or less while
making every word count. This is my flash.
Le Bourgeois
Written for Friday Fictioneers where our host Rochelle
asks us to use the photo below as inspiration
to write creatively in 100 words or less while
making every word count. This is my flash.
Pull Up A Chair
Written for Ovi Poetry Challenge #78.
This week’s inspiration word is
“temptation”. This is my ovi.
Now That’s A Tasty Beverage
Written for Fandango’s Story Starter #148, using the first sentence teaser,
and for Six Sentence Story, using the word ‘double’. Here’s my story:
She held out her arms to hug me, but I knew this wasn’t my house — and she definitely wasn’t my wife but she was one of the most gorgeous women I’d ever seen and I found it difficult to resist her charms; I’ve always been a weak man …. whether it was women, drugs, drinking, gambling, sex …. I couldn’t control myself.
Strange sensations came over me and I felt disoriented; I was sweating but I had chills, my vision was blurry, my tongue seemed huge in my mouth …. about three times its normal size …. my head felt like it was under water and my equilibrium was off, making me stumble and lose my balance, walking into the furniture and reeling yet even though I desperately wanted this goddess standing before me, I was unable to reach her.
For no apparent reason, I suddenly remembered when I got home from work earlier that day, I found a new drink in the refrigerator …. 24 mini-cans of some beverage with exotic-sounding names such as Peach Bellini, Pineapple Mule, Mango Meringue, Grapefruit Paloma, Maui Sunset …. and it was totally bewildering to me that I could remember those names but not where I was, who I was, who this woman was and yet I knew for a fact that I drank a couple of those cans of delightful nectar; could be that’s what was messing with my head …. making me be so unsure about some things but entirely certain about others …. not unlike taking quaaludes (the authentic Rorer 714s, not some cheap bootleg shit), dropping acid and then popping amyl nitrate all at the same time like some who-do voodoo cocktail.
I could hear this luscious woman talking but I was unable to reach her, to press her mind-bendingly magnificent body next to mine; her words were garbled and all I could make out was the name “Alex” which was very strange because my name wasn’t Alex .… or maybe it was .… I wasn’t sure of anything except that I definitely downed several cans of exquisite ambrosia with exciting names.
Holding on to the back of the sofa to keep myself from falling, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and I gasped; I did a doubletake because even though my vision was definitely wonky, it wasn’t so bad that I couldn’t see that I had suddenly transformed into a very attractive black man much like Michael B. Jordan when just half an hour ago I was my usual George Costanza look-alike!
Then without warning the woman’s voice started morphing and began to sound familiar, kind of like my wife Alexis and when I looked up into the mirror I was no longer Michael B. Jordan …. I was back to my old self, plain old Fred Johnson …. and when I looked over at the woman, that voluptuous blonde with the perfect 44 double Ds had been replaced with my short, squatty wife of 37 years; well, that sucked and I quickly determined the only thing I could do was to drink more of those tasty beverages in mini-cans and pray my gorgeous fantasy girl would return but when I yanked open the door of the fridge, I was alarmed to see there was no more voodoo juice left and my heart sank because, as always, I couldn’t control my damn self, I had downed all the mini-cans of ecstasy and now it was just me and short, squatty Alexis.
NAR©2024
This is “I Drink Alone” by George Thorogood and the Destroyers
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.
THE DANGEROUS GAMES WE PLAY
Thursday, 10/26/1961
Dear Diary: There’s a new boy in school named Carter. He’s so cool. He’s half black …. his skin is the color of milk chocolate and he’s got amazing green eyes. I dig him. If my parents find out, I’m dead! They’re so prejudiced!
Friday, 10/27/1961
Dear Diary: Great news! Carter is now my Biology partner! I know he’s into me. He winks whenever he sees me. My friends giggle; they’re so childish. Really! We’re 15. The black girls are giving me dirty looks. Beverly bumped me hard when she walked by. Carter likes me! He’s so hot!
Monday, 10/30/1961
Dear Diary: We were sitting real close in class, sharing the microscope. Carter’s arm brushed against my boob. I liked it. I leaned in closer and placed my hand on his leg. Then the bell rang! Carter whispered “Give me your phone number”. I scribbled it down and he winked at me.
Tuesday, 10/31/1961
Dear Diary: Teacher’s Conference Day. No school and my parents are at work. The ringing phone woke me. I was stunned to hear Carter’s voice: “Pretty Lily White. I’m bored. Come to my place. We’ll listen to music.” I said “Okay“, and got his address. I walked the three blocks to his house. The radio was playing Motown and we started dancing. He gave me a drink …. Scotch, I think …. and he laughed when I coughed. He took my glass and kissed me. I’d never been kissed like that before. We were drinking, smoking and dancing. I must have passed out. I only remember bits and pieces. I woke up in Carter’s bed. The Miracles singing “Ooh, Baby, Baby”. Carter’s friends Warren and Kevin appeared in a cloud over my head; I have no memory of them being there. What did I do? What did they do? Next thing I know I’m dressed and Carter’s helping me down the stairs, mumbling something about having to “clean up the mess”. He opened the front door and I staggered out, the cool air clearing my head a bit. I smelled like smoke, Scotch and sex. Somehow I made it home, showered and crawled into bed. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
Wednesday, 11/1 – Friday 11/3/1961
Dear Diary: Faked bad period cramps. Skipped school and missed the Halloween dance tonight. I just couldn’t face anyone..
Monday, 11/3/1961
Dear Diary: This morning at school I saw Carter walking with his arm around Beverly. He winked at me as we passed and Beverly bumped me hard. Carter’s friends laughed. I’m sure they all know what happened. I could just die.
NAR © 2023
This is Three Dog Night singing “Black or White“.
It’s all new
Birthday Thursdays
at The Rhythm Section.
No talk, no fuss, no muss.
Just wall-to-wall music!
Stop by and check it out!
🎂
https://rhythmsection.blog/
MARIPOSA
When drunk, my wife Blaire could be a sexy vixen or a slutty bitch; tonight was definitely the latter.
Sprawled out on the deck of my boat ‘Mariposa’, Blaire slowly got to her feet and staggered toward me, one hand grasping the boat railing and the other a bottle of vodka.
“For fuck’s sake, James, why do you always have to wear that ridiculous outfit?” Blaire slurred. She drained the bottle, dropping it on the deck.
“This is proper nautical attire, darling, perfectly appropriate for every occasion” I replied. “But you don’t know the meaning of proper and appropriate. You’re all but falling out of your dress.”
Blaire ran her hands up and down her tanned body. “What’s wrong, Captain? Don’t you like the way I look? All the other men do” Blaire purred tauntingly.
“Darling, you’re such a drunken whore” I snarled and she reached up to slap my face. I grabbed her wrist and shoved her out of the way. She fell, hitting her head. Putting the boat in neutral I quickly checked on Blaire; she was dead. I adjusted her dress and looked around the boat making sure nothing was out of place.
Heading for the dock, I made a frantic call. “Mayday! Mayday! Emergency on board ‘Mariposa’!”
The police asked a few routine questions but it was obvious my wife had too much to drink; she lost her balance and fell. It happened so fast I couldn’t prevent it … even if I wanted to.
NAR © 2023
Once again I rise to the Unicorn Challenge hosted by Jenne Gray.
THE BENCH
Grundy sat in his favorite spot: a dilapidated bench on the boardwalk at Coney Island overlooking Brighton Beach. He was celebrating the sixteenth anniversary of his divorce from Barbara, the “Bitch of Brighton” as he called her. And he was getting drunk as he did every night.
His routine never changed. After his shift at McDonald’s, he’d grab a Big Mac, walk across the street to the Liquor Loft, buy a $7.49 bottle of Old Crow Kentucky Bourbon and a pack of Camel cigarettes, then stroll over to his bench and settle in.
Grundy’s Bench … his home away from home. Well, not literally. Thanks to his cousin Marcy and her husband Phil, he had an actual roof over his head. Grundy was real close to Marcy, growing up together and all, and Phil was as nice as they come, humble but with the bearing of a prince. Grundy lived with them and their three kids and all Marcy asked was for Grundy to cook Sunday dinner for the family. Hell, he’d cook dinner every night for those precious people if he wasn’t always shit-faced after work.
“Pretty sweet deal” Grundy thought as he took a swig of his Old Crow. “I’m a freaking loser, an embarrassment, yet they treat me with a love I don’t deserve.” He had his own room, a TV and Marcy did his laundry. He mostly kept to himself, getting home late. He had the day shift, breakfast and lunch included. The pay was lousy and so was the food but it beat a blank.
How the fuck did he end up here? Carl Grundy, a graduate of The Culinary Institute of America, working in some of the finest restaurants in the world … once one of the best chefs in New York … now a burger flipping drunk in Brooklyn.
So what happened? Bourbon happened. He wasn’t much of a drinker – an occasional beer – but one night after a particularly ugly argument with Barbara, he surreptitiously chugged a shot of the restaurant’s finest bourbon. It was ambrosia and he had another. Before long it became a ritual, then a habit and finally an addiction. He got caught, fired and the cycle began. Land a new gig, drink their booze, get sacked. Eventually the only job he could get was at Mickey D’s and Old Crow was all he could afford.
Out of nowhere he recalled the words of some televangelist his mother used to watch: “Your decisions cause your circumstances”. Damn straight! He didn’t even realize he was crying. Well, enough reminiscing for one night.
Grundy gave his beloved bench a pat and stood up to begin his walk to Phil and Marcy’s. Suddenly he felt a searing pain in his chest and crumbled to the ground.
“Oh, Lord! I’ve made a fine mess of things” Grundy gasped. “I’m hurting and I want to go home. Mom and Dad are waiting for me.”
He died alone that night, his hands still clutching an empty bottle.
NAR © 2023
It’s that time of year.
Come on over to
In The Groove;
find out what’s the buzz.
https://rhythmsection.blog/
HELLO, GOODBYE
RITA’S STORY
It was the night of the office Christmas party and I was dreading it. I knew Kevin was going to be there. After our breakup, I couldn’t stand being around him. I thought he was a great guy; I was wrong. He was only interested in sex. Kevin never missed a party, a chance to get drunk and hit on me. I wasn’t there long before he spotted me. I turned and headed for the restroom. When I came out, Kevin was waiting…..drunk, leaning against the wall, drink in hand. He stumbled towards me slurring “hey, baby”, pushing the drink in my face. I walked past him but he grabbed my arm and dragged me into the supply room. He spun me around, smashing his lips against mine, tearing at the buttons on my blouse and shoving his hand up my skirt. Somehow I managed to push him off me. Kevin was so drunk, he stumbled and fell backwards. I ran out into the street, gasping as the cold rain washed my body of Kevin’s stink. I couldn’t go to my apartment. Hailing a cab, I fled to the safety of my parents house…..safe from Kevin.
KEVIN’S STORY
It was the night of the office Christmas party and I was dreading it. I knew Rita was going to be there. We had a ‘thing’ once which ended badly….for her. These parties…..I only go to them because it’s expected but they really aren’t my thing. I pop in, make the rounds and take off. I was set to leave when Rita snuck up behind me at the coat closet. Wrapping her arms around my waist, she tongued my ear whispering incoherently. When I turned around to free myself, she pulled me into the closet, fumbling with my belt buckle. Rita was grinding against me, her dress riding up to her waist. I was trapped by a drunken sex machine reeking of cheap perfume and bourbon. This is not how I like being with a woman and I was disgusted. I just wanted to get the hell out of there. Suddenly Rita went limp in my arms and crumbled onto a pile of coats. I grabbed my jacket and made a beeline for the door. The air was cold but I knew it would clear the smell of Rita from my clothes and out of my head.
NAR © 2017
The Elephant's Trunk 