The story of the Token Drunk
Get in Touch with Your Inner Drunk
by Finnegan Schall
The political issue of Affirmative Action has certainly had its ups and downs, and I'm
hardly going to argue the righteousness of that cause here. Rather, I'm here today to tell
one man's story. My story. The story of the Token Drunk.
The company I work for is small and populated almost exclusively by married men. As usual,
all these married men labor under the illusion that they were wild and crazy party animals
up until the moment they were finally tamed by their life mate / prison guard. This
fiction is accompanied by the attitude that they have somehow martyred themselves for me
and mine. Somehow they've fallen on the family sword that I might dissolute freely. Balls
to that! Brazen whores will rape me (please) before I'll admit that having puked once on
the dorm lawn constitutes a lifestyle of excess.
Regardless, you may depend on the fact that whatever anyone else's circumstance, I will
practice my dissolution with complete abandon.
The only other unmarried guy at the company has not spoken to a living woman other than
his mother since she turned off the 1-900 phone number access to his basement 'apartment'.
He's currently making due with a lively fantasy life that includes picturing Lara Croft
naked and hearing my stories of debauchery.
Every Monday when I come into the office, everyone else is already present. They've been
locked in small environments with the wife and the kids and or the mother-in-law all
weekend and are so very desperate for some modicum of respect and freedom that work
actually seems a relief. With desperately nonchalant expressions on their sickeningly
healthy faces they ask, "So, did you do anything interesting this weekend?"
I grow to understand the plight of Jesus. I do. But to be honest, he had it easy. The
story goes he suffered for our sins. Well I not only suffer for the sins but have to
perform them as well. Now don't get me wrong, I have a talent, a gift, if you will, for
the sins of dissipation. Even without those needy bastards at work I would be out there in
the trenches living the life of hell bent indulgence. But as in Rasputin's Khlystian
method, my journey to enlightenment through intemperance is very personal. I did not sign
up to provide the cliff notes version of my life as jack off material for those lazy
bastards. I work myself to the bone drinking and chasing after women of ill repute. It is
not my concern if these sissified losers lack the moral fiber and liver fortitude for life
without a safety net.
So I'm telling them and I'm begging you: Stop living vicariously through me. Do it
yourself. It's not my job. With a little effort you can live your own life of depravity.
Here's my simple but delicious three-step recipe.
Start with small goals.
Tonight, get drunk in public, and when I say drunk I mean sloppy. That's enough. Just go
out and do it, preferably on a "school" night. I suggest you find a babysitter
for any wife and kids that you may have accidentally become involved with.
Expand your horizons.
Once you've done that, do it again (and again), and this time get so stupid you get kicked
out of the bar. It may seem frightening at first, but you'll feel an odd sense of
accomplishment and pride, and I think you'll find you are now developing a rapacious
appetite for depravity…just like the "old days".
Now you're in business.
I'd love to stay and elaborate, but its happy hour somewhere. If you've completed steps
one and two, you're well on your way, grasshopper. Before long you'll be fully in touch
with your inner drunk. Oh. One last thing. If you get loaded enough to get it on in a back
alley with a gin-soaked bar whore who may or may not be female…you have truly
arrived.
If I can help just one person realize this potential, then it's all been worthwhile.
(The names of several good divorce lawyers are available upon request.)
Love,
Finnegan
